No Surprises
by Nmoreblack
Summary: He thought they made an odd pair, the two of them. The oddness, he thought sadly, surely rested with him. Katniss thought they were perfect. He was perfect. Modern day AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

**This fic is dedicated to misshoneywell, whose idea it was in the first place. Thanks for coming up with this brilliant idea months ago and letting me do something with it.**

**Huge thanks to my beta, atetheredmind, for her stellar and super speedy work. **

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins.**

* * *

Peeta Mellark had been her best friend since she was eleven. Until that point, she'd had no trouble making friends. Katniss was a lively child, raised by loving parents who encouraged her to sing and laugh, and with a baby sister who giggled at every funny face she made. She carried this attitude into school and moved seamlessly from one group of friends to another. Her teachers described her as eager and bright; her biggest flaw was a quick temper, usually exacerbated by her own failures or fierce protectiveness over those closest to her.

When she was eleven years old, however, her father's life was claimed by a drunk driver—her _daddy_, the calm voice that sang her to sleep and made her laugh when she was in her cruelest tempers. With him went her mother, for all intents and purposes.

Of all her school mates, the only one who made an appearance at the funeral was Peeta, which came as a great shock to her; in all her time at school, they'd hardly shared more than a passing greeting. He was exceptionally shy around girls, it seemed, because he had no trouble talking with all the boys about sports and super heroes and video games, but he had never once approached her. He had round, red cheeks, pudgy knees, a baby belly he hadn't grown out of (not unlike others his age), and a short frame, as yet unchanged by puberty.

Through her grief, through the lowering of her father's coffin into the ground and her sister's hands tugging desperately at the skirt of her only black dress, she focused on him. She focused on him because it was easier than feeling the absence of her mother at her side—and because Peeta's presence was so unlikely and so odd.

He had come alone. In the distance she thought she could see his cherry red bicycle propped against the gate of the cemetery, the one she'd seen him ride home day after day, hopelessly trying to keep up with his older, more athletic brothers. He wore a button-down shirt, untucked over his belly, and sleeves that extended past his fingertips. He distractedly tugged on his cuffs and shifted a brown paper bag from one hand to the other, glancing up to meet her eyes every so often before letting them flit away quickly. She wondered why he had come, how he'd even known, and why he was by himself. It kept her from thinking too long about why none of her other friends had shown up.

After the funeral ended, as her Uncle Haymitch led Katniss and Prim away, she felt a tug on her sleeve, too high for Prim to reach. She turned around and met Peeta's ruddy, round face. His blue eyes were glassy. Haymitch picked up a crying Prim and headed toward the car.

"I, um," he started, shifting from foot to foot in red Spider-Man sneakers, wholly incongruous with the rest of his outfit. "I'm so sorry, Katniss." His voice cracked on the last syllable of her name, not uncommon for boys in her grade, but the raspy whisper of his voice comforted her; she knew it matched how her own voice would sound if she could form words at the moment. He shakily held the paper bag out to her, and she took it tentatively, furrowing dark brows at him.

"It's all, um, I could get. I'm sorry, I—" he trailed off, distracted by something on the ground. He bent over, his blonde curls flopping into his face, and plucked a yellow flower from the ground. "Here." He held it out to her, offered a small, pained smile, and turned on his heels, almost tripping over his khaki pants to get to his bike.

Her hand grew hot from the warmth seeping from the bottom of the bag, and she peeked in to find a loaf of fresh bread, presumably from his family's bakery. She inhaled deeply, closing the bag and holding it to her chest, an unlikely source of warmth on the damp, overcast morning, and walked over to Prim, tucking the flower behind the girl's ear to earn her sister's first smile in days.

In the weeks and months and years that followed, Katniss took to sitting next to Peeta at lunch. And in classes, when she could. And after school, at each other's houses. She no longer felt herself to be the friendly, easygoing girl she had once been and, at a loss to explain herself and unable to forgive friends who seemed to shirk from a young, grieving girl, she clung to Peeta as her only friend.

He, in turn, did the same. He still spent time with the boys in P.E. class or for birthday sleepovers, but Katniss was his best friend—_for life_, he'd told her. With her, he stopped being shy or sheepish. In fact, in private she found he had plenty to say, things that made her laugh and roll her eyes and pinch his arm. Sometimes, she wondered how he never seemed to run out of words. Unlike the other boys, he didn't talk to her about video games or sports he pretended to like; he spoke about his beloved charcoal set, or the color of the sky after a storm, or the best way to make a really good whipped cream.

By the time they entered high school, Katniss' slim legs had lengthened, and she grew modest curves that were mostly hidden, apathetically, in plain, practical clothing.

Peeta had hit a growth spurt, too, but due to the stocky frame he inevitably inherited like the rest of the men in his family, his figure didn't lengthen enough to hide his still pudgy arms, rotund stomach, and chubby cheeks. Girls he'd never bothered talking to in elementary school started teasing him, pinching his belly or calling him a "heifer." The latter comment he'd heard early in junior high, and he ran home, almost in tears, to ask his father what the word meant. His father hedged, and his mother told him to "suck it up and, for the last time, stay away from the sweets."

He was strong, though, strong enough to lift heavy bags in the bakery, or to hoist Katniss halfway up his body so she could reach the sweets Haymitch hid at the top of the refrigerator. The latter favor he was more than happy to oblige.

He was a slow runner, he knew that—always had been. When he and Katniss would race to the playground or, in later years, to the brook in the woods, she always won. She dodged people and trees, her gamine figure springing on light legs, hardly disturbing the terrain beneath her feet. She never teased him when she won. Just collapsed in a fit of giggles or, as she got older, gave him a sly smile when he came huffing and puffing behind, cheeks pink and hair askew.

He thought they made an odd pair, the two of them. The oddness, he thought sadly, surely rested with him.

Katniss thought they were perfect. _He_ was perfect.

* * *

When she got to school, she pulled herself onto the high ledge of the wall in front of the library. From this vantage point, she could see all the students meandering through the front gates of the high school in the early morning. She spotted Madge Undersee, who shot Katniss a quick smile, which she returned. Katniss kept scanning the crowd. Her eyesight was sharp, but that was incidental; she could have picked him out of the thickest of crowds.

She soon spotted him, the sun glinting off his near golden hair. He kept his head down and hands on his backpack straps as he made his way through the throng of students. He was wearing her favorite blue flannel shirt. He didn't know it was her favorite. Her mouth could never form those words, certainly not to him. But she beamed anyway, before schooling her features into that of a more restrained joy.

He made his way toward the library and saw her immediately. He knew to look up.

"Hey spider-woman, wanna come down from there?"

"Can't," she replied, looking dramatically off into the distance. "Vigilante justice to exact."

"Uh huh," he said sarcastically, pulling a paper bag from his backpack. "Like you've ever done any good on an empty stomach."

He dangled the bag in front of her. She was starving. She would have to needle Haymitch into grocery shopping again, or at least steal his wallet and make a run tonight. She had given the last of the cereal to Prim this morning. Peeta couldn't wrangle treats from the bakery often, but he always seemed to know when she needed them.

He put the bag down and held out his arms. Her heart rate sped up. She shimmied to the edge and his large hands spanned her waist, lifting her effortlessly and bringing her down. She grasped his shoulders tightly, a little light-headed from more than an empty stomach. She held on as long as possible before he gave her a smile and bent over to pick up the bag.

"Gross, Mellark!" came a high pitched-voice. "I can see your ass hanging out! Get your mommy to buy you some bigger jeans."

"Fuck off, Glimmer!" Katniss shot back. "Get your mommy to buy you a new nose."

The blonde let out a sharp gasp, her eyes murderous. Katniss walked a few steps towards her and Glimmer backed away, storming off with her gaggle of followers. Katniss may have been small, but people knew not to mess with her when she got that look in her eye.

Peeta had yet to turn around, one hand clutching the bag and the other fiddling nervously at his waistband.

"Peeta, just forget it. She's—"

"Katniss, stop. It's fine," he said. It was his usual refrain when things like this happened. Someone would say something nasty—not _always_, Peeta was well-liked among his peers, but there were always a few who liked to make his life miserable for no apparent reason—and then Katniss would shoot back, and Peeta would beg her to forget it.

"She's an ugly cow!" she finished, undeterred by his plea.

He laughed bitterly. "No, she's not."

Katniss frowned, unsure why he would believe the bottle blonde in the push-up bra was worth defending. She glared after Glimmer, who tottered on wedges in a short denim skirt. Katniss ran her fingers along the neck of her loose black t-shirt self-consciously.

From the corner of her eye, she noticed Peeta staring at Glimmer's group, too, but he was pulling at his shirt as if trying to create space between it and his body.

"Hey," she said, wrapping her fingers around his strong wrist. "Stop it. I like this shirt. You're going to stretch it out."

"I already have," he mumbled, staring at his stomach.

"Hey!" she repeated, more sharply this time. Bright blue eyes met her own. "There is _nothing_ wrong with you. I like this shirt. And these jeans." He smiled tentatively at her. "They make your ass look good," she said in a mock-joking voice, hoping her face didn't turn red.

He laughed, deep and rich. It was her favorite sound.

"Your hair, though," she continued, reaching up and tugging at a curl that refused to sit flat, "is ridiculous."

He smirked and smacked her hand away.

"All right, all right, shut up and eat your cinnamon roll," he replied, pulling it out of the bag. Some of the frosting stayed on his fingers, and he wiped them on the paper.

She wished he would just suck it off his fingers. He deserved to enjoy it—because he made them, because he made them _for her_ knowing they were her favorite, because he deserved something sweet, because there was nothing wrong with him. And because she wanted to watch him do it.

He pulled an orange from his backpack. She enjoyed watching his hands work as he peeled it. She said nothing, though. She wanted him to stop being so hard on himself—he had enough people to do that for him—but he'd been weaning himself off sweets and fatty foods for almost a year now; sometimes, he almost looked proud of himself—and _that,_ she could enjoy watching.

He smelled like oranges for the rest of the day, and she failed to come up with any more excuses to touch his hair.

* * *

They found a different place to eat lunch every day. Neither of them liked the manic pace of the cafeteria crowds.

Sometimes they snuck out to the front lawn where technically only seniors were allowed. That was tricky, but worth the effort it took when they found themselves sitting in the relative quiet beneath the shelter of a maple tree. Other days, they would sit in the calculus classroom where the Chess Club periodically met. It was always quiet and relatively free of people, but when either of them laughed too hard or Katniss' temper would flare as Peeta tried to teach her some basic strategy, they would earn themselves glares and impatient huffs.

Today, they settled down in a far corner of the choir room, away from the "chorus cult," as Katniss called them. As soon as they'd pulled out their lunches, Delly Cartwright came bounding up. Katniss suppressed a groan. It wasn't that she didn't like Delly. It was sort of impossible _not_ to like her; she was so genuinely kind and positive, she made Peeta look like a curmudgeon by comparison. Katniss didn't want to think about what that made _her_.

"Hey, guys! Did you hear?" Before they could even attempt to answer, she went on. "They're doing 'Oklahoma' for the musical this summer. I'm so excited! I would _love_ to be Laurey, but I'm probably not good enough. That's okay, though! There are so many talented people. I'll be happy just to be in the background..."

Delly continued talking on in an excited rush, hardly pausing for breath. Peeta met Katniss' eyes and enthusiastically nodded his head, feigning serious interest in Delly's words. Katniss shot him a scowl in response, and he burst out laughing.

"Oh! Katniss!" Delly said, as if Peeta's laugh had reminded her of something deeply important. "You should try out. Do you remember when we were in chorus together in elementary school? You would be _wonderful_."

Delly said this with such confidence that Katniss had to suppress the urge to snap at her. She tried to school her face into a mask of indifference, but feeling Peeta's eyes on her made her struggle to keep the flush from appearing. She had loved singing. Her dad had loved singing. In junior high, she'd had the opportunity to sign up for chorus again, but she couldn't find it in her, not even when Haymitch begrudgingly offered to drive her to the events—as long as they didn't interfere with his "social calendar." Even at twelve years old, she had to roll her eyes at him.

"Um, no, Delly. I don't think so. It's not really my thing." Delly made a ridiculous pouty face and opened her mouth to speak again.

"You should do it," Peeta mumbled quickly. "You...you have a great voice."

Katniss stared at the top of his head as he refused to meet her eyes. She was struck quiet and, amazingly enough, so was Delly.

"How...how would you even—" Katniss eventually sputtered. "You've never heard me sing."

"You sing in the shower sometimes," he said, looking up at her. He bit his lip nervously, and she could tell he was resisting the urge to look away again. Katniss saw Delly's eyes widen comically in her peripheral vision. "I mean! I just...sometimes Haymitch lets me in when I'm waiting for you, and I can hear it all the way down the hall. I don't think you know you're doing it."

Katniss moved her jaw, but no words came out; she was mortified at this revelation and mildly disbelieving—she certainly didn't think about it when she did it. She didn't even realize she was that loud.

"Oh, yes!" Delly interjected. "And Peeta, remember we used to perform at assemblies? You always sat up front, I remember. And that one time you gave me a cupcake afterward! You _must_ have heard Katniss then."

Peeta's ears turned vaguely red, and Katniss couldn't figure out if it was from embarrassment at having heard Katniss sing or the revelation that he had given young Delly a treat. It created an anxious feeling in her gut that made her sandwich look far less appealing.

Luckily, Delly broke the silence again (Katniss was momentarily thankful for the girl's inability to keep quiet—until she imagined a young, round-faced Peeta handing Delly a pink frosted cupcake). "Ohhh, maybe I can talk them into doing 'Annie Oakley' next year! You'd be perfect!"

"Thanks, Del," Katniss said shortly, wanting to bring an end to the subject. "But performing on stage in front of a bunch of people is kind of my nightmare. Good luck, though," she added begrudgingly, seeing the girl's forlorn expression.

Peeta pulled a banana and a sports drink from his paper bag before folding it up and putting it back so he could use it again tomorrow. Katniss wanted to tease him about his conscientious habit, but she noticed that he'd pulled nothing else from the bag.

"_That's_ your lunch?" she asked, eyeing it judgmentally. Peeta just shrugged and scratched his head.

"Bananas have a lot of potassium," he replied. She scoffed at him and held out half her sandwich.

"Here, have half of mine. You're going to be starving by sixth period."

"No thanks," he said, frowning at it.

"What's wrong with it?" she shot back. She wasn't the world's best cook, but she was still in charge of making most of the meals at home, and she could certainly put together a damn _sandwich,_ even if it was the cheap bologna.

"It's white bread," he replied.

"You work in a _bakery_," Katniss said, her voice rising in incredulity.

"No, he's right, Katniss. It has a lot of sugar and carbs. Or are those the same thing? I can't remember from chemistry. Anyway! Some of us don't have the metabolism you do, Katniss—right, Peeta?" Delly giggled.

About a thousand nasty responses ran through Katniss' head. Peeta didn't need another person drawing attention to the fact that he had a few extra, meaningless pounds. How could Delly, of all people, say something like that?

Katniss remembered the kids at school poking fun of Delly when they were little, chasing her around and making "oink" sounds. But she had developed curves that she dressed in fitted sweaters and flowing skirts, and Katniss often struggled not to be jealous of the way she had filled out like one of those bombshells in the old Hollywood movies Haymitch fell asleep to on the couch. Had this made Delly utterly insensitive to other people's insecurities?

Katniss was stopped from voicing any of these thoughts by the sound of Peeta's laugh. He was _laughing _at Delly's joke. Delly's joke that was at his expense, and maybe even Katniss'— implying that her metabolism made it so that her body couldn't develop beyond an adolescent boy's. As if _that_ was something to envy.

But Katniss was more taken aback by Peeta's attitude. Any reference to his body usually made his cheeks go splotchy in embarrassment, even if it was something positive, like Katniss encouraging him to take off his shirt to go swimming for once or commenting on the size of his forearms.

Katniss scowled at Delly, who was happily dipping pieces of lettuce into a small cup of vinaigrette. Peeta bumped Katniss' knee with his own and, with a mouthful of banana, rolled his eyes back in feigned ecstasy and moaned, "Mmm, so good."

Despite herself, she giggled. She didn't bother trying to interpret the looks Delly shot the two of them as they continued to make fun of each other's lunches or when Peeta tried to wipe away a stray bit of mustard on Katniss' face and ended up smearing it across her cheek.

* * *

By the time the last bell rang, the heavy clouds that had been looming all day finally rained down upon the school in sheets, an unexpected late spring downpour.

Katniss waited as Peeta pulled his books from their shared locker. She had one of her own, but it was in a distant hallway near the freshman classes, so she rarely used it and, Peeta being Peeta, he insisted she store her stuff in his locker instead of making the long trek every day.

"Ugh, okay, found it. Knew it was in here somewhere," he said.

She looked up from where she was jotting in her planner to find him pulling out what looked like a canvas sheet.

"_What_ is that?" she asked. He shook it out and she realized it was a windbreaker, one she'd never seen him wear. She laughed at the sight of it.

"I know it's ugly," he said with a smile. "It was my dad's. He tried to pawn it off on me."

"Which is why it's shoved in the back of your locker," she noted, wryly.

"Yes, but!" he said, draping it over her shoulders, "It'll keep you dry."

Her smile dropped, and she looked at him with wide eyes. This action shouldn't have surprised her, and it didn't really, but in the last few years she had struggled to understand, and lately, suppress, her reactions to him. He was the kindest person she'd ever known. He had the good nature she remembered in her father, compassion to rival her little sister's, and a quiet gentleness all his own. He also made her laugh harder than anyone else. That wasn't necessarily a tall order; she didn't surround herself with many people. Haymitch only made her laugh when he bumped his head on cabinets while searching for coffee to ease his hangover. Prim made her laugh, partly because she was so goofy and clumsy and partly because Katniss knew she appreciated her smile the most. But Peeta was funny in a way most people didn't realize—sharp and witty, his way with words never failing him. He could have had a whole group of close friends, hanging on his every word and his kindness, but he stuck with her. Always. And when he made her laugh really hard, he would smile so wide in triumph that it brought out the dimples in his cheeks.

"It's only until we get to the car," he promised, laughing at what he assumed was a forlorn expression on her face. The jacket fell mid-thigh—Peeta's father was a large man—and she regretted that it smelled more like musty locker than like Peeta.

"Katniss, you sure you don't wanna put some poles in that, use it as a tent?" She heard the voice before she saw who it belonged to. She closed her eyes, breathing deeply; she didn't want to see Peeta's reaction. She could picture it clearly in her mind, anyway.

David Marvel had been hitting on her since the start of junior year; she couldn't imagine why. She didn't smile at him; she didn't make conversation. Her face was usually scrubbed fresh and her hair pulled into a practical braid. She wore clothes that were plain and unembellished because she wasn't much for adornments, and she couldn't really envision dragging Haymitch to the mall so he could buy her a hipper wardrobe. She didn't know what Marvel saw in her, but maybe he saw her as a challenge. She cringed at the thought.

"Seriously, though, you could use that thing for shelter. That's what you get for borrowing clothes from Peeta-bread," he said, laughing at his own joke.

Peeta clenched his jaw and looked determinedly over her shoulder. She knew he was trying to control his temper. He and Marvel had never clashed before this year, having many of the same casual friends in common. But apparently, Marvel saw Peeta as a threat and assumed that mocking him in front of Katniss would break the strong connection between the two; he could rarely approach her without finding Peeta at her side. Even in Chemistry, where the two were unfortunately partnered, she spent more time staring at the back of Peeta's head than she did listening to Marvel spout off his baseball stats.

"You're right; it is a little big," Katniss replied. She saw the wounded look on Peeta's face that he tried to hide by staring at his shoes.

She took the jacket off and draped it over Peeta's shoulders. Before Marvel's smile could grow too wide, however, she snuck her arm under Peeta's and snaked it around his waist, covering herself in the remaining fabric and effectively sharing his jacket. She turned to Marvel.

"It looks better on him anyway," she said, giving him a saccharine smile. She knew her face had to be bright red; she could feel it burning. But she wanted to prove a point to Marvel, that she wasn't interested in him—and maybe to Peeta, too, who had failed to pick up any of her hints during the school year, who still seemed to be waiting for her to leave him behind.

She was a terrible flirt. She hadn't understood why she would ever need to be a _good one_ until she realized that every kind word, every smile, every touch she bestowed on Peeta was interpreted as friendship and—sometimes, she deeply feared—pity. So she tried harder, doing things outside of her comfort zone, and apparently out of _his_ as well, judging by the way he stared at her in confusion right then. She heard Marvel scoff and walk away, but her eyes didn't leave Peeta's.

"What? We can share," she shrugged, not wanting to move away from the warmth of his body.

He seemed simultaneously grateful and nervous as he squirmed under her touch. She hoped it wasn't because he disliked her nearness, but her greater fear was that his squirming was due to any discomfort he felt at the possibility of her hand discovering parts of his body he was ashamed of.

"All right," he said, rolling his eyes, but his cheeks were tinged pink. He slipped his free arm into one sleeve of the jacket and the other he used to pull the loose side over Katniss' shoulder, where he let his arm rest, cocooning her in his warmth. She fought the urge to snuggle closer to his scent as they made their way to the parking lot. When they stepped out the doors, he pulled the neck of the jacket up over his head so that it covered both of them from the rain. She laughed at his actions, and he shot her a dimpled smile.

He walked her to the passenger side, and she slipped in quickly, the rain managing to pelt her face and chest before he could shut the door behind her. He jumped into the driver's seat, shrugging off the jacket and throwing it into the backseat with a flourish, making her smile. It _was _kind of ugly.

"You should save that," Katniss said, trying not to focus too much on the way a raindrop dripped off a stray curl and onto his earlobe.

"The jacket?" he asked incredulously, starting the car. "When am I ever going to wear a tan windbreaker?"

"I don't know. It might come in handy when you're like 80, shuffling to church in your white orthopedic shoes."

"That's really offensive, Katniss," he said with a straight face. "You know I don't support organized religion."

"Fine, when you go to the local diner to slurp your soup," she said. "With the way you drive, you'll fit right in with the early bird crowd."

"Watch it, miss," Peeta said, turning onto the town's main boulevard. "I'll drop you on the side of the road."

"Ha! Like hell," she laughed.

"Okay, well..." he trailed off, pretending to stroke his chin in thought as he pulled up to a stoplight. "I'll drop you at that cafe in the square. You know, the one with the cranky owner and no WiFi? Good luck with that. Oh! And he has those three-day-old, dry-as-hell pastries that he tries to sell as fresh. You'll be begging me to come back in no time."

"I don't beg," she said flatly.

She didn't immediately realize the implication of her words, but with her naturally smoky voice and her teasing tone, she had a feeling she knew where his mind went. Especially when he stared at her for a moment too long, his eyes dropping to her neckline before darting away, his foot releasing the brake pedal too quickly at the green light.

She looked down, noticing that her cotton t-shirt clung more closely to her frame from the rain, her chest dotted with stray raindrops. She didn't think there was anything particularly special about the way she looked, but when she could still see the blush on his face as they pulled up to her house, she counted it as a victory.

His blush wasn't an uncommon occurrence. In fact, his father always joked that he looked like a little cherub as a child: pink apple cheeks, blue eyes, angelically golden hair. Peeta hated it, she knew. He felt it drew attention to his chubby face. For that reason, and because his bullies reveled in the clear physical indication of the mortification and shame they inflicted on him, she wished he could control it better. But these were fleeting thoughts. That face _was_ Peeta, blush and all, and she associated it with the warmth of the bakery, the heartiness of his laugh—and the few times her presence would fluster him.

* * *

They sat at her kitchen table, surrounded by textbooks. She'd gone upstairs to switch out her wet shirt for a dry one and ended up choosing one of Prim's. Katniss was petite, and Prim had grown tall enough that they could share clothing. They rarely did; Prim's style was in no way similar to her own, but she couldn't resist pulling out a light cotton scoop neck that vaguely showed the outline of her bra. She felt uncomfortably exposed, but after noticing his attentions in the car, she figured she couldn't let this opportunity pass.

Peeta had never been regaled with female attention, and while she was selfishly relieved, it also filled her with sadness and fear—sadness because she knew it affected his self-esteem, just one more blow to his ego and more voices telling him there was something wrong with him, and fear because she knew one day a girl _would_ come along and really _see_ him, for his goodness and quick wit, for his broad shoulders and the prettiest eyes she'd ever seen. And what was the likelihood that he wouldn't jump at that opportunity?

She wasn't exactly beating guys off with a stick, though she didn't have to guess why. She lived in a safe bubble of those she loved, and anyone outside it hardly earned more than tentative acquaintance, indifference, or hostility, depending on the person. Her uncle said she had all the charm of a dead slug. Maybe he had a point; she couldn't even get her best friend to give her more than a sheepish smile or an awkward hug. Once, when she met Peeta's aunt, the lady had drawn her into a warm embrace and Katniss responded with an awkward pat on the back; Peeta had laughed and joked that Katniss was "not a hugger."

If she'd known that encounter would mean Peeta would save those embraces only for holidays and reunions after a long absence, she would have jumped into the woman's arms to demonstrate how much of a "hugger" she was.

She slid into the chair across from him, avoiding his eyes and attempting to seem casual.

She flipped to the right page in her book, before finally chancing a glance in his direction. She caught him looking at her, and he immediately refocused on his notes, pulling his book closer and almost knocking his water glass over in the process. She bit her bottom lip to stop her growing smirk, and the two were uncharacteristically quiet until they heard the back screen door slam shut.

She sighed heavily at the sound of shuffling feet.

"I think he walks louder than I do," Peeta noted wryly.

"Yeah well, he shuffles. You have a heavy gait," she replied. He frowned and looked away.

She immediately regretted her choice of words. She'd always teased him for his loud walk, saying she could hear him before she saw him, but this time she knew he was taking it the wrong way. Sometimes, she felt like she walked on eggshells around him; she couldn't even look at him for too long without him noticing and immediately pulling at his clothing or wrapping his arms protectively around himself.

She wished she were allowed to look. She wished she could tell him why she wanted to look so badly.

There were times when he fell asleep on the couch, and she would study every inch of him she could. She got lost in the length of his eyelashes or the fine golden hairs on his forearms. She would wonder how soft the skin was at the base of his neck. She studied all the freckles on his skin that she could see and wondered about the ones she _couldn't_ see.

She sometimes thought about curling up next to him, feigning sleep and learning the feel of his body pressed up against her own for an extended period of time. She never did it, though. She couldn't bear the idea of him looking at her like she was a freak, and if Haymitch ever walked in on that, she'd never hear that end of it. He'd probably congratulate her with a sarcastic slow clap.

She always got the sense he liked Peeta more than he liked her, anyway.

"Kid," Haymitch grunted at Peeta, before setting his eyes on Katniss. "What's up with you, sweetheart? You got school pictures today?"

"It's June," she gritted out, willing him to drop the subject as he scrutinized her too closely. "School ends in a week."

"Uh huh. You're wearin' pink," he said with narrowed eyes.

"It's off-white!" she squeaked, horrified at the sound of her voice.

"Yeah, it is off-white. As in _not_ white. Because it's pink."

Peeta started laughing, and Katniss immediately glared at him.

"Why do you even care, Haymitch?"

"I dunno. Suppose it's my job or something," he replied lazily, grabbing a water glass and some Advil. Katniss knew, if he was forgoing the beer, that meant he was working the night shift. For the moment, he was getting his kicks tormenting her. "And I know you did the laundry this week because my undershirts aren't in a pile on the floor."

"Yeah, you're welcome, by the way," she said bitingly.

"Yeah, yeah, I'll buy you your favorite ice cream later at the store. Don't have a fit," he said, and before she could respond he turned to Peeta. "So what's her deal? She got a date tonight or something?"

Peeta's mouth gaped open before he turned to her with a bewildered, almost fearful, expression.

"No, of course not!" she said in answer to his silent question. "I would have told you. I don't—I mean, no one's—"

Haymitch cut off her sputtering with a laugh.

"Just checkin', sweetheart. She certainly doesn't dress that way for us, does she, boy?" he said, leaving the room before Peeta could muster up a response.

Peeta scratched behind his ear and stared down at the table. Katniss warred with a dozen different feelings at once. She didn't know what Peeta was thinking, and she _hated_ that…for a number of reasons, mainly because he was her best friend. But she also hated that kicked-puppy look on his face. Maybe he was angry at the idea of her having a date and keeping it from him.

"I don't have a _date_," she said, her emphasis on the word mocking the very idea. "It's not like anyone…I mean, god. I've never even—"

He looked up at her expectantly.

"It's just a stupid shirt!" she finished.

He gave her a crooked smirk. "It looks nice on you," he said quietly. Before she could beam in response, he continued with a hesitant shrug, "I'm sure David would appreciate it or whatever."

"Marvel?" she drew his name out in disgust. "What, do you hate me or something? Why would you subject me to that, even hypothetically?"

He laughed, and it lessened the weight on her chest.

"It'll be enough just trying to avoid him at the pool this summer. What a creep."

His laugh immediately stopped, and she looked at him in confusion.

"Katniss," he started. "There's something, um—well, there's something I've been meaning to tell you, but it just hasn't seemed like, I don't know, the right time, I guess."

Her breath caught in her throat, and she hoped he couldn't see the pulse jumping in her neck. She leaned forward intently, hanging on his every word.

He looked up, and she met blue eyes that had steadied her since childhood.

"Um," he said, "Well, the thing is…my family's going away for the summer."

"Huh?" she asked, her brain struggling to catch up with her mouth.

"Yeah, I know I should have told you. I know we had plans. I mean, nothing concrete, obviously. But we were supposed to hang out, and you said you wanted to try that new ice cream place at the lake, and then you mentioned—I don't know if you remember, but you said you wanted to try white water rafting. I was going to try to save up for us to do a trip or something; it was going to be a surprise but…"

He was rambling, and her breath grew ragged at his words; he had to be _fucking kidding_.

"I know that's all shot to hell now. And I'm so sorry. I don't want to go at all, trust me. I would so much rather—" he cut himself off, finally taking a deep breath and seeming to re-route his words. "You know my mom. It's this whole resort thing she has planned out. There's no getting out of it, _believe me_. Even my dad tried."

"Oh," she said in a small voice.

"I know." He hung his head, and she fiddled with her fingers, willing herself not to do something stupid like cry.

He was going to be away for the entire summer. The summer before senior year, after which they'd inevitably have to part. This was a nightmare. There would be no stargazing from her roof, no long, aimless drives with the windows down, no water fights like the one last year where he had thrown her over his shoulder to get her to drop the hose, the squeal dying in her throat at the feelings of his hands on her.

Sometimes, late at night, she'd even think about what it would be like for him to visit her at the pool again where she lifeguarded. Admittedly, with his pale skin, she could hardly tell if he was blushing when he looked at her or just burning up from the sun, but maybe…maybe this year her curves had filled out a little more, or maybe something _else_ would finally get him to look at her the same way she looked at him.

"Um, I'll miss you," she said. She needed him to know that, at least.

"I'll miss you, too," he said on a breath, sounding relieved. "You're my best friend, Katniss."

"You're _my_ best friend, " she replied. She felt overwhelmed, regret and doubt and fear mingling with the happiness she felt in knowing she was just as important to him as he was to her.

"I—I, um, want you to know," she started. She met his gaze; and his eyes were intense. "I...I'll call you."

He laughed, and she tried to recover.

"No, I mean, I know that I hate the phone," she rambled, desperately backpedaling from the words that had nearly spilled from her mouth. "But I'll call you, I swear, and you can call me, too, obviously. I promise I'll pick up...unless I'm napping."

"I don't _want_ you to pick up if you're napping, believe me," he said with a shudder, referring to all the times she'd snapped at him in a sleepy stupor.

She smacked his arm lightly in response, and he caught her hand, turning it in his own so they were palm to palm. The laugh died in her throat.

She looked up and met his eyes, soft and searching. He intertwined their fingers and she couldn't help but note that this was the first time they'd held hands like this in the entirety of their friendship.

"You look good in pink," he said, glancing down before meeting her eyes again with a sly smirk on his face.

"Shut up," she laughed and tightened her hold on his hand.

* * *

If she closed her eyes tightly enough, she could still faintly make out his scent and feel the warmth of his body against her own. _He had hugged her. _The memory ran on a loop in her mind, and she wanted to commit every detail to her memory, especially because she had a few long, lonely months ahead of her.

They'd spent the entire day together before he was set to go away with his family.

_He picked her up in the morning, and they ate an indulgent breakfast at the diner in town. She stole all his home fries, and he let her. She choked down the weak coffee that she hated, and he laughed at her for complaining that it was too damn early; this was one of the few days where she didn't really mind. _

_They went on a hike near their favorite brook, and she playfully dashed from tree to tree in an impromptu game of hide and seek. She purposely slowed her movements so that when he lunged for her, she could feel his arms around her waist when he caught her. She felt small in his arms, and the thought was simultaneously comforting and thrilling; so much of the time, her personality and thoughts and entire being felt so large and unwieldy that for a moment she wished she could lose herself in his arms and just be still. _

_While they hiked, she huffed and puffed louder than she usually would to make him less self-conscious about his own breathing. They could have been hiking uphill for five miles, and he'd still be ashamed of his own heavy breathing, as if it were a neon sign that labeled him as "fat" or "out-of-shape"; no encouragement from her—even when they'd been children and Katniss was less successful at holding her tongue—would make him believe it was normal. _

_On their way back into town, they picked up fast food for a late dinner and pulled into the parking lot of the town park to eat on the hood of his car. _

_As if he could sense that her mood was turning somber, he started asking her ridiculous questions, like the grossest thing she would lick for a thousand dollars or whether she'd rather have a hook for a hand or a peg leg. _

_She laughed so hard her belly ached. She stopped abruptly when he asked her what her favorite color was._

"_You don't know my favorite color?" she asked, aghast. She pinched his arm, and he pulled away laughing._

"_I'm kidding. Of course, I do." She waited, eyebrows raised. "It's black."_

"_It is not black!" she huffed._

"_Your wardrobe begs to differ," he said, eyeing her shirt with a sly grin. _

"_Besides, black isn't even a color. It's the absence of all light," she said with her arms crossed. _

"_Is that right?" he asked._

"_That's right."_

_She continued staring at the sky, but she could sense him looking at her, his head turned toward her on the windshield. She squirmed under his gaze, and she could hear him chuckle lightly, as if he knew that his attention unnerved her._

"_It's not black!" she repeated finally. She opened her mouth to say more._

"_It's green," he said quietly, and she looked into his eyes, his pupils large in the darkness and surrounded by rings of deep indigo flecked with gold. For a split second, she wanted to change her answer._

"_Yeah, okay," she finally conceded, and his cheeks dimpled. _

"_Bet you don't know what mine is," he said smugly, turning his gaze skyward. _

_She didn't know what made her do it. Maybe she was high from the euphoria of the day that belonged just to them. Maybe it was a last-ditch effort to get him to notice her before he went away for months (hopefully to a place where women were scarce or elderly). But she knew Peeta better than anyone, and anything she wanted to know, she simply had to ask or, most of the time, listen. He knew her, too, not so much from things she said about herself but really from years of paying close attention. He was good at that. _

_And she had to admit to herself that she not only _knew _his favorite color_, _but that this item of clothing in this particular hue hadn't made its way into her closet by accident._

_So she summoned all her courage and turned to him, undoing the top button of her blouse. _

_He turned his head at her actions, and his pupils grew even larger, his eyes appearing almost black as his mouth dropped open. _

_She stopped at the one button and pulled her orange bra strap up so he could see it._

"_Something like that?" she asked wryly, willing her voice not to crack._

"_Mmhmm," he mumbled as if in a daze before quickly averting his gaze. "It's a good color," he said, trying to inject some lightness into his tone and failing miserably. He swallowed heavily._

"_Your favorite?" she prompted. _

"_Maybe," he said and wiped his palms on his jeans subtly before wrapping his arms around his stomach. She buttoned her blouse and fell back against the hood again, a little closer to his side this time. She could feel the heat coming off of him in waves. She loved summer._

_Eventually he had to drop her off. He had an early departure the next day. _

_He walked her up to the door and she felt a lead weight in her stomach at the prospect of not seeing him all summer. It was so distracting that she didn't notice the awkwardness of the moment until they reached the front step. And then they looked at each other, shuffling on their feet, as if it were the end of a first date._

_He didn't normally walk her to the front door. He would just wait in his car to make sure she got inside safe and, sometimes, annoyingly, he'd insist that she text him later so he knew everything was okay. She never told him that she didn't mind doing it as long as it meant he would text her back when he was home, so that she knew he was safe, too._

_He pulled his mouth to the side in a sad half-smile. She lifted her shoulders and released them with a big exhale._

"_Well…" she said sullenly._

"_Hey," He grabbed her shoulder with one hand. "I'll be back before you know it. Text me stupid stuff, and wear sunscreen, and don't let Prim get crushes on stupid boys, and if any other stupid boys hit on you at the pool…"_

"_Punch 'em in the nose?"_

"_I expect nothing less," he said with a smile. _

_She tried to muster a brave smile in return. He reached forward and lightly pulled on her braid, caressing his fingers down its length as if committing it to memory. As soon as he let go, she stepped forward and looped her arms around his shoulders. He hunched down to reach her, wrapping his arms lightly around her back. She felt the small distance between their bodies as he angled his away from her. She went up on her tip toes and held on tighter, closing the distance. _

_She thought she felt a light pressure on the top of her head, and she couldn't tell if he had planted his nose there or his lips, but she squeezed her eyes tighter. Eventually he stepped back, and they said their goodbyes. _

She knew the memory should make her sad, and maybe soon it would, after days of his absence had sunk in. But for now, in the quiet of her room, the feeling of his body against hers invaded her mind, the reality of it enhanced only by the stretches of her imagination, where she could change certain details, like what they were wearing and where they were and what it would have felt like if he was pressing against her from above.

She tried to steady her breathing, but it was no use; she closed her eyes and tilted her head back on her pillow, her hand traveling over her stomach and under her shorts. The breeze came in from the open window and sailed over her skin, bringing up goose bumps.

She drew up his image in her mind and collected memories of his expressions to play against the black of her closed eyes like a movie screen—the way his eyes had darkened on the hood of the car, the times he would chew on his lip after she'd caught him staring. She imagined what his lip would feel like if she could draw it into her mouth, what it would feel like against the skin of her throat. Her nipples hardened against her top. _There, too_, she thought fleetingly, struggling to hold on to anything specific in her mind as her hand started rubbing beneath her underwear.

She was damp with arousal and she wondered what his reaction would be if he knew what he did to her, or what she did to _herself_ when she thought about him. The practical side of her knew she'd be horrified if he had any clue, but she pushed that thought out of her mind and instead let herself wonder if he ever thought about _her_ when he did this. In her more lucid moments, she knew it had to be a distinct possibility, especially with the way guys were, but she always tried to ignore the possibility that she was just one face, one body in a revolving door of shallow male fantasies.

But right now, with the scent of his shampoo lingering in her senses, the idea of him doing that while thinking about her—maybe doing it right at that moment—it only made her wetter, and she turned her head and stifled a moan against her pillow.

She imagined the two of them sitting on the couch side by side as they so often did, but instead she would lean back and pull him down by his shoulders, opening her legs to him and letting him settle against her body. She wanted to know she had an effect on him, wanted to feel it between her legs, pressing against her. She would thrust her hands into his hair, clenching tight and forcing his head down to the crook of her neck where she knew she was sensitive because every time he whispered in her ear from behind her in class, his breath would ghost over that spot and she'd have to suppress a shiver. _Every time._

She moved her fingers to her entrance and dipped them inside, imagining his fingers instead—thicker, slightly calloused, but so strong and deft. He'd never been bad at anything with his hands. The thought made her clench.

She moved her fingers back up to her bundle of nerves, circling more swiftly, her breath coming out in soft pants. She thought about cornering him somewhere, pulling him into some dark hallway or against the bark of a tree and pushing his shirt up slowly, hoping his pupils would dilate like they had tonight. She wanted to explore every inch of his pale, lightly freckled skin and see if it was that soft everywhere, the way it was on his hands and arms. She wanted to feel it against her own bare skin. In her fantasies, she had the courage to straddle his waist and let her hands find purchase on his broad shoulders or the solid width of his chest.

She wanted him to grab her face and bring it to his own, coaxing her tongue out of her mouth while relentlessly thrusting against her center. These thoughts escalated and collided in a random series of filthy, tantalizing images of—

"Peeta," she gasped into her pillow, her hips still jumping with aftershocks of her orgasm, the muscles of her body unclenching in succession until she sank into her bed, feeling boneless.

She looked at her clock, which read 1:13 a.m. and then at the post-it on her desk that had his return date written on it.

"Fuck."


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's Note:**

**For misshoneywell. You are the fic whisperer and I'm forever in your debt for all your great feedback.**

**Huge thanks to atetheredmind for her stellar beta work. And thank you all for your support and reviews for the first chapter. It was truly appreciated.**

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins.**

Katniss mentally scolded herself to slow her pace; she didn't want to show up all sweaty and gross. But she couldn't help herself. She was speed walking down the sidewalk, repeatedly brushing stray hairs from her face to keep them from sticking to the perspiration dotting her forehead in the late August heat.

Peeta was home.

This was the longest she'd gone without seeing her best friend since they _became_ best friends. The goofy texts and long phone calls just hadn't been enough to fill the void.

During that time, she had spent more than a little time strategizing how to plant seeds in his mind. If he wasn't going to be around, she figured she could at least make her feelings more obvious from a safe distance.

She found herself typing out stray text messages that would say something like, "Thinking about you…" before second-guessing herself and changing it to "Thinking about ya!" She'd cringed when it sent.

She _had_ managed to awkwardly add in "xo" to the end of some of her texts when it was late at night and she felt fairly certain he missed her as much as she did him. She didn't know what he thought about that little addition—just that he was kind enough not to question her or, worse, tease her about it.

She'd thought about sending him photos, too. Nothing too scandalous, just maybe one of her making a goofy face…one that possibly showed a little bit of shoulder or neck or maybe she would leave her hair down for once and—

Instead, she'd drop her phone and bury her face in her pillow, groaning in frustration.

She couldn't figure out a casual way to do it, anyway. He never sent pictures of himself—no surprise—and she didn't have the courage to ask for them, no matter how much she missed his face. He'd send her random photos of the sunset or scenery instead, or he'd send a picture of someone's body part and make her guess whose it was. Once, he sent her a photo of his mother's claw-like manicure. She sent her answer with a "duh!" His reply was: "Nope. Wrong!" And he followed it up with a picture of a fat, stray cat with a mashed-in face. She almost peed herself laughing.

Katniss slowed her pace as she rounded the corner onto his block. Haymitch had taken the car to drop Prim off at a friend's house and do god-knows-what with the rest of his day. Peeta had offered to pick her up after he finished some errands for his mom, but she didn't feel like waiting.

She was momentarily confused by what she saw when she reached his front lawn. Someone—a Mellark, no doubt, judging by the stocky frame and fair hair—was mowing the lawn, but neither of Peeta's brothers lived at home anymore, and it wasn't likely they did any chores when they did visit. Katniss figured maybe it was a cousin or something and made her way up the driveway to the front door, hoping to avoid any awkward introduction.

That is, until the mower shut off, and the guy turned around.

"Holy shit!" Katniss shouted.

Peeta was wiping the sweat off his forehead with the bottom of his white t-shirt when he looked up at her in surprise. Except it couldn't _possibly_ be him because her Peeta didn't have a flat, defined stomach or lift up his t-shirt in plain view of others—or even wear tight-fitting undershirts in public in the first place.

"Hey!" he said happily but stopped in the middle of hurrying over to greet her once he saw the horrified expression on her face.

"What—what did you—" she breathed out but couldn't finish. She felt like she was hyperventilating.

She categorized all the things she knew about Peeta physically. Sure, this guy had the blonde curls and the blue eyes, but so did every Mellark, for Christ's sake. She tried to remember any defining features like birthmarks she could seek out, but her mind was scrambling. Maybe he didn't look _so_ different. His shoulders looked the same. His face—well, it was _his_ face but without the slight double chin and overly round cheeks. Had his jaw line always been that…chiseled?

His arms were still big, but they were big in a completely different way. She always knew he was strong—she had _told_ him how strong he was—but now any excess of fat that had surrounded his muscles was slimmed down.

"Jeez, Katniss, I don't look that different, do I?" he asked, scratching behind his ear in a familiar gesture that now showed off his toned triceps.

She crossed the lawn to study him closer, all fantasies of an intense, joyous reunion fleeing her mind. Instead, she thought about his horrible mother and all the various nightmare scenarios she might have put her son through over the summer.

"They didn't—"once she was close to him, she dropped her voice, "They didn't send you to a, a _camp_, did they?"

She tried to remember everything he'd told her about the place they were staying. It was some house they'd rented near a lake in some resort where she was certain Peeta's mother spent her days looking for shallow friends in the clubhouse or the spa. But what had they done to Peeta?

"A camp?" he asked incredulously. "You mean—Jesus, you mean a _fat camp_?" His horrified tone made her backtrack.

"No! No, of course not! You don't need that! I mean, I never thought…you weren't fat!" she said, exasperated. She'd never uttered that word in his presence before, afraid he would misinterpret it, but now that he looked so different, she wanted him to know she never thought of him that way. "You know I always—I mean, I've always _liked_ the way you look. Or looked, I guess."

"Yeah, well. _I _didn't," he said dejectedly. "It's just like, 20 pounds, Katniss. I didn't go on 'The Biggest Loser.'"

"No, I know!" she cut in. This was going downhill fast.

"I just did more cardio. There wasn't much to do there every day. I jogged around the lake. Anything to get away from Mom. Marc and I spent a lot of time in the gym. He taught me some more wrestling moves. I was thinking of maybe trying out for the team. I know it's too late for it to go on my applications, but I thought it would be good for me..."

He kept talking, and her mind reeled. It was too much change, too much in too little time. She felt like she'd been standing on that lawn for hours. Was she stupid not to see how unhappy he was, how unhappy he _must_ have been to want to make all these changes? All she could hear was _new body_ and_ new activities_ and _new friends _and …

"Katniss? You look like you're going to pass out. You okay?" he asked gently. "I mean, I'm not going to take off my glasses and put on a dress and take the football captain to Prom, okay? I promise. It's not like a movie makeover. It's just a small change."

She gave him a pained smile. "You'd probably look better in a dress than I would at this point," she said, looking him up and down. For once, he didn't squirm under her scrutiny. She supposed that was one positive change.

"Oh, yeah? I'd be willing to take that challenge if it got you in a dress," he said with a sly smirk.

This was too much.

"Can I have something to drink, please?" she asked, pulling at her shirt and shifting her braid to the other side of her neck.

"Yeah, of course," he said, rushing her into the house. The way his form loomed over her had her wondering if he hadn't sprouted another inch or two on top of it all. _At what point do boys actually stop growing? I don't know how much more of this I can take, _she thought mournfully.

His hand went to the small of her back as they walked up the front steps and lingered there.

_Oh, sweet lord. _

* * *

They sat at the island in the Mellarks' expansive kitchen. Katniss absently traced the condensation on her glass while Peeta gulped down a glass of water. She was openly gaping at him while his head was thrown back, his damp shirt clinging to his body, but for once in her life she was going to look, dammit. Especially if he was going to come home all…_transformed._

"You gonna drink that?" he gestured at her glass. "It's a commodity here. My mom doesn't usually approve of sweet tea."

Katniss narrowed her eyes at the thought. Melissa Mellark made Haymitch look like Parent of the Year. Every insecurity Peeta had, every tear she'd seen him hastily wipe away, every doubt he had about himself and his worth as a human being was rooted in that woman's bitterness and scorn. All the trifling, taunting words that came from the jerks at school only reopened wounds that already existed.

She may not have a great example of motherhood herself, but she had come to terms with it enough to recognize that a mother who blinked at the wall or smiled benignly in faint recognition when they visited her at the facility was preferable to one who bore down on her children with cold severity. At least, Katniss had the luxury of distance to be able to deal with it; Peeta didn't.

"Who the fuck says that, anyway?" Katniss said and affected a posh voice, "'_I don't approve of sweet tea_.'"

Peeta laughed, but she couldn't get quell the angry thoughts inside.

"Aren't you going to have some?" she asked.

"Nah, I've been in the sun for an hour. Water's better to hydrate." She gave him a scrutinizing look, and he rolled his eyes. "Are you going to do this with everything I eat or drink from now on? I don't have a disorder, Katniss. If anything, I'm healthier."

She sank in down in her seat. She hadn't wanted it to be this way. She didn't want to feel like she was sitting with a stranger, especially when she hadn't seen him in so long. He read the defeat in her posture and came around to where she sat, laying his hand on her shoulder.

"Look, if it makes you feel better, I'm actually eating more than I did before." She looked up at him skeptically. "I swear. I'm just working it off. I don't mind working out, really. In fact, I like working out a hell of a lot more than I like having to give up cookies, okay? I thought you'd be happy. You won't have to watch me eat half a grape for lunch anymore."

She smiled weakly at this, and he ran his hand down her back reassuringly.

"Just get used to it, kid," he said with a wink, before turning to open the fridge and pulling various out meats and condiments.

"I can't believe you didn't tell me," she mumbled. "You tell me everything."

"What was I supposed to say? It didn't happen overnight. I didn't even realize there was a huge difference until my pants started hanging off me. For the first time in my life, my mom seemed thrilled to give me money for clothing."

He continued assembling sandwiches for the two of them, and she couldn't help letting her gaze drop to his decidedly more fitted jeans. She sort of hated herself for it. He looked _so_ good. But then, he'd always looked good. And would he be okay with her staring at his ass _now_? How was that fair?

She couldn't make sense of any of her emotions or justify them. She was pissed and maybe a little hurt, too, and overwhelmingly guilty about all of it. He seemed happy. She should be happy for him.

"Besides, people don't call other people to say they've lost weight. They just upload a shitload of selfies to Facebook and let the comments flow in."

She laughed at this and covered her face with her hands.

"You're the worst," she groaned at his answering chuckle. "You know I hate surprises."

She heard the plate sliding against the granite as he pushed it towards her. She looked up and was surprised to see him nervously chewing on his lip.

"I was hoping it would be a good surprise," he said quietly. "I guess I just thought, maybe you'd look at me and think…I don't know…"

He trailed off and failed to meet her eyes.

"Peeta," she said softly, her heart in her throat. "I don't look at you any differently than I ever did."

He swallowed heavily. "Right."

She felt vaguely like she'd missed a step somewhere or maybe several. She just needed time to get used to it. The sound of their chewing filled the space.

* * *

"God, _Peeta_?"

The two of them stopped in their tracks. Peeta shot her an exasperated look before turning around. She followed suit and instinctively moved closer to him.

Glimmer was staring at him, bearing an unpleasant resemblance to a dead fish. It wasn't even 15 minutes into the school year and they'd managed to run into her in a school of thousands. Peeta had gotten curious looks, of course, and, to Katniss' irritation, some appreciative ones as well, but no one had actually said anything.

"I thought you were like, your brother, for a second."

"Nope. I am not my brother," he said slowly, and Katniss failed to suppress a snort. Glimmer glared at Katniss before directing a glossy smile back at Peeta.

"Well, you clean up good, Mellark. You've been holding out on us," she said, taking a step closer. Katniss gripped the back of Peeta's t-shirt possessively before she realized she was doing it. She felt him stiffen, but she wasn't sure whose actions he was responding to.

"I mean, I know I can be a bitch sometimes, but I did have a point because you look fantastic now," she said, smiling.

_Was she fucking kidding? Was that supposed to be a compliment?_

Glimmer stood there blankly for a second, waiting for a response that didn't come. "Okay, well," she said, pushing her hair behind her ear, "See you around. Those jeans look good, by the way."

She followed this up with a wink. Katniss' hand fisted tightly around the fabric of Peeta's shirt. She wanted to spew all over that twat's shoes.

She looked up at Peeta to see a deep blush covering his face. For a moment, she felt a rush of deep relief run through her. In the week he'd been back, she had found herself constantly staring at his face in disbelief or jumping at the sight of him in her peripheral; she just couldn't get used to the difference.

But now, seeing those splotchy cheeks and his nervous twitches, she felt warmth rush into her chest in familiarity and…something else. Because it was _Peeta_.

Until she remembered why he was blushing.

Glimmer had been checking him out, blatantly flirting with him, and pretending she wasn't a venomous snake who'd gone out of her way to make him feel like garbage until this point. And he was blushing.

She mentally scrolled through her memories of the last week, searching for anything she had done to produce a similar reaction. She came up with nothing.

She slowly relinquished the hold on his shirt, her palm sweaty and the fabric wrinkled from her hand. She looked up at him and failed to hide the pained expression on her face. She turned and walked to class without once glancing back to make sure he was behind her.

* * *

By the time lunch came around, she was feeling more uncomfortable around him than she had in years. The sun peaking through the leaves overhead gave her as good an excuse as any to look down and avoid his eyes. She absently picked blades of grass and flicked them away.

"Man, I haven't had this in, like, a year," he said, unwrapping a spicy chicken sandwich he'd gotten from one of the carts. "Don't let me eat this every day."

He gave her an easy-going smile and she returned it with more than a little effort. She unwrapped her own sandwich and eyed it critically. Some of the mustard had seeped through the bread. She hated when that happened.

"Well that just looks sad," Peeta noted. Katniss scowled at him. "You want a bite of mine?"

"No, thank you, Richard Simmons. I've heard fried chicken is actually bad for you," she said.

"Like you've ever had to worry about things like that," he drawled. She searched his face for any trace of mocking, any silent resentment about her relative ease at maintaining her thin frame, but instead she found him smiling at her, almost slyly, and she had to look away before she read too much into it.

"My sandwich is delicious, anyway," she said, swiping a stray bit of mustard from the edge of her sandwich and sucking it from her finger.

"God," Peeta groaned. "I'll never look at a bologna sandwich the same way again."

Peeta tore into his own sandwich, and she just stared at him.

She couldn't tell if he was feigning disgust or implying something else entirely. Could he possibly be flirting with her? She couldn't recall any instances of him doing so in the past, not in the years she'd, admittedly, been fairly oblivious to boys in general and not in the past year or so in response to her own utterly disastrous attempts. She didn't want to think he could be mocking her.

But even if that was some suggestive hint—was that just who he was now? Some guy who wore tight jeans and made fleeting, suggestive comments to her and blushed at Glimmer and—

For what was probably the hundredth time in the span of a week, she had to stop herself from overanalyzing everything even remotely pertaining to his weight loss. It had created an underlying tension between the two of them since his return—and not a good tension. She just wanted her best friend back.

"All right, fine," she conceded, hoping to recapture the light mood. "Gimme a bite. My lunch is depressing me."

He smiled at her, and she felt a small thrill at still being able to see the dimples in his cheeks.

Instead of merely handing over the sandwich, Peeta leaned toward her and, holding onto the end still wrapped in foil, brought it to her mouth.

Her mouth dropped open in shock—but he must have taken this as an invitation to feed her, as he moved the sandwich closer. She was about drop into a familiar scowl and tell him she could feed herself, _thank you very much. What am I, 2 years old?_ But before she could voice this, his other hand landed loosely on her jaw, almost as if to keep her in place, and his thumb swept lightly across her cheek. She could feel his fingertips just barely grazing the skin beneath her ear, and the hairs on her neck stood up.

To stifle the half-gasp she didn't trust herself to conceal, she took an overly large bite and hoped the slight fluttering of her lashes could be perceived as a reaction to the deliciousness of a $2 sandwich.

"Good?" he asked, a small smile on his face as he pulled back.

"Mmphm," she responded, cheeks full of dry bun, the chicken burning her tongue.

He chuckled a little in response and opened his mouth to say something before a voice cut him off.

"Peeta!" Delly said with a gasp. They both squinted up at her as she hurried up to their spot under the tree, her head only partially blocking the sun's rays.

"I'm…I can't believe it," she said, breathing heavily, as if she'd run all the way across campus to find them.

"This sounds familiar," Peeta said wryly, looking in Katniss' direction. She rolled her eyes and took pity on her near-hysterical friend.

"Sit down, Delly."

Delly plopped down onto the grass unceremoniously. She looked utterly distraught and, even more surprisingly, at a loss for words. Katniss was amazed she wasn't fawning all over him with praise. She was so positive about _everything_.

"I heard," Delly started. "Well, I heard some people talking—only good things, I mean! And I just didn't believe it…"

"It's not a big deal, Del," Peeta said with an easy smile. "I just gained a few inches some places, lost a few in others. I'm still me."

She looked up abruptly, horror flooding her features. She launched herself at Peeta and wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Oh, I'm so sorry! I should be congratulating you!" she said over his shoulder. Peeta patted her back and looked over at Katniss. She gave him a tight smile.

"I'm so proud of you, really," Delly said, squeezing his arm as she pulled back. "Oh, my god, Peeta!"

He laughed nervously and scratched the back of his head as she commented on his biceps. Katniss noticed that Delly hadn't moved back to her spot.

In fact, she didn't move away from him for the entirety of their lunch break as she plied him for information on what his new dietary habits were and what he'd done over the summer.

They chatted happily, smiling at each other and hardly sparing Katniss a glance. She busied herself tearing up the grass again or staring at other students on the lawn.

Marvel caught her eye from where he was sitting with his friends and sent her a wink. She rolled her eyes so that he could see, but before she could look away he caught her attention again. He gestured with his head towards Delly and Peeta, who were still deep in conversation, and looked back at Katniss with an exaggerated raise of his eyebrows. She furrowed her own in response, struggling to understand what he was inferring.

She looked back to the pair to find Peeta frowning at her, and she pulled up short. She didn't know what his problem was. This was the first time he'd even acknowledged her presence in the last half hour, anyway.

"Oh, but Peeta," Delly continued, oblivious to their silent communication, "I think you'd be great on the wrestling team. It must come naturally, what with your brothers, and I think—"

"The wrestling team? You were serious about that?" Katniss asked.

"Yeah, what's wrong with that?" Peeta asked, suddenly defensive.

Katniss knew she should drop it, but with the way this entire day had gone so far, how he was treating her, treating other girls, the mixed signals…she had never wanted space from him so badly before. Trying to figure him out and everything else was giving her a headache, and she could feel her tolerance level waning.

"Nothing," she replied. "Except maybe the fact that you'd never mentioned it before."

"I've mentioned _wrestling_ before," he said, his mood clearly souring along with hers. "My brothers both wrestled; my dad did. I even know the coach. It's not like I don't know how. I just never thought they'd take me."

"Well, fuck them, then!" Katniss said, and Delly gasped dramatically.

"I don't understand why you're so against this."

"Because those sports guys have always treated you like shit!"

"No, they haven't, actually. A lot of those guys have been my friends for a long time," he said, his voice rising. "Not every jock is a douchebag like your little friend across the quad!"

Her mouth dropped open along with Delly's. He'd never talked to her like this. Ever. It wasn't that he never got angry; it had just never been directed at her personally.

"Are you serious right now?" she asked.

"I don't know, are you?" he returned, eyeing her harshly.

Before she could respond, Delly jumped in. "Guys, don't fight! This is silly, we should all be happy. It's the first day of school, no homework yet, the sun is shining…Peeta looks great," she beamed at him, before abruptly turning back to Katniss. "Oh, and you, too, Katniss, but then you always—"

Katniss looked away then and rubbed her hand across her eyes, letting the drone of Delly's voice fade out under the buzzing of her head. Finally, the school bell cut through all of it.

She got up hastily and caught the both of them staring at her. Without bothering to study their expressions too closely, she brushed herself off and went to class. She knew it was immature. Even though they didn't share any classes after lunch, she could have walked with him like she always did, but the sound of his voice and the tension in his more-defined jaw made something ache inside, and all she wanted to do was run far away from the cause of it.

* * *

She waited by his car, her arms folded, petulantly kicking rocks under her shoes. As a senior, she had enough credits that she didn't have a 7th period, and she knew he didn't either, which begged the question—_where was he?_

He'd been driving her home from school as often as he could since he first got his car—which was always. Except for right now, when he was nowhere to be found.

Could he be that mad at her? He wasn't a perfect person, and maybe she'd finally pushed him too far, but she'd never known him to be spiteful.

Not caring to stick around and run through the various scenarios in her mind and dwell on how much they were all probably _her _fault, she left the parking lot and started walking home.

Fifteen minutes later and still a good half-mile from home, she felt her phone buzz in her pocket. She took it out and found a new text waiting.

_**Peeta: Sorry, got stuck talking to someone. Be at the car soon.**_

She should have felt relief; he wasn't off stewing somewhere, thinking about how she was a terrible friend and forcing her to find her own ride home. He just got held up.

But the idea of him being held up by yet another blonde who wanted to eye fuck him to death caused her to tighten her grip on her phone angrily and hurry her pace.

The screen went bright a minute later, and she felt it vibrate in her hand.

_**Peeta: Hey, where are you? Did you get a lift home? Should I wait?**_

She had a good mind just to ignore that, too, and continue on, but then she realized he'd probably drive past her on his way home and force her to get in the car and explain why she was being such a brat.

She groaned and did the only thing she could think of: She walked quickly to the shopping center on the next block and ran in to the empty café.

She spotted the notoriously grumpy owner standing behind the counter. He stared at her suspiciously, as if he thought a petite 17-year-old was going to hold him up for his secret café millions or something. She had half a mind to start playing songs obnoxiously loud on her phone just to piss him off, but she needed shelter for a little bit longer.

She laid her bag on one of the many empty tables and pulled out her wallet before ordering a hot chocolate. He grunted at her.

"And a croissant, please," she added. He eyed her closely before pulling it from a display case and dropping it on a plate. He pushed it across the counter with undue force. She narrowed her eyes and deliberately ignored the tip jar.

She sat at her table, nibbling on the dry bread and willing the hot chocolate to come quicker so she had something to wash it down with. The owner had just called the order out when the front door opened.

"I got it," Peeta said swiftly, picking up the mug from the counter and bringing it to her table. She sighed deeply and rested her head in her hand on the table. "What's up?" he asked brightly, settling into the seat across from her.

She scowled at him reflexively. Of course, she hadn't plotted out what she was going to say to him the next time she saw him, but she'd thought she had bought herself a few hours of silent stewing before she had to suck it up and apologize. She hated apologizing.

"How did you even find me?"

"Well," he drawled. "You don't like anyone, so I couldn't figure out who you might've gotten a ride from."

The deeper her scowl grew, the more entertained he seemed to become.

"So I figured you must've walked. I was going to check for you at your house, but, I dunno…I saw this place out of the corner of my eye, and it seemed like maybe you wouldn't be able to resist coming here to hide out and eat this disgusting, _non_-Mellark baked good purely out of spite."

He picked it up as he said this, eyed it critically, before dropping it onto the plate where it landed more heavily than a light, flaky roll should. She could feel the smile creeping onto her face.

"Well, am I right?" he asked.

"Nope," she said, picking up the croissant and taking a bite.

She tried to swallow, and crumbs stuck in her throat, but before she could gulp her hot chocolate, Peeta pulled it away.

"Peeta!"

"Just admit it's gross," he said, holding it out of her reach. She didn't want to concede anything to him, but her mouth was so dry.

"Fine, it's gross!" she spit out.

They heard a clattering of dishes from where the owner stood at the sink, and their eyes met like two guilty children. Peeta burst into giggles.

"This isn't funny! He probably heard!" she hissed at him.

"Can we please get out of here?"

"I haven't finished my hot chocolate!"

"Katniss, I'm pretty sure it's Swiss Miss anyway. Please, just let me take you home."

She melted slightly at his words. She struggled to remember why she was even mad at him or what point she'd been trying to make. This was her best friend, who wanted to take her home and make her laugh, so she forgot her anger, and, for the moment, she didn't see why it had to be more complicated than that.

"Fine. But we can never come back here again. I didn't even put change in the tip jar."

"Good. He's always a dick to you, anyway." Peeta shot a dirty look at the owner, who had been eyeing him darkly. The man quickly turned back to the dishes.

Peeta took her bag, slinging it over his shoulder and ushering her out before she could say anything.

Once they were both settled into the car, she fiddled nervously. He had yet to actually ask her why she'd ignored his texts. Or stalked off after lunch…and in the hallway that morning.

"I'm sorry, okay?" she blurted out a block from her house. Her guilt was overwhelming her, and all she could imagine was him pulling up to her driveway, letting her out and then driving away without so much as a word. How much longer would he even want her company? She wasn't exactly a pleasant person to be around.

"What are you sorry for?" he asked softly.

"Just today, I guess. I was just out of sorts and, I dunno, everything feels…I just handled things badly." She buried her face in her hands as he pulled up to her house. "Today was just…" she trailed off.

"Shitty," he answered for her.

"Yeah," she breathed, looking back up at him.

"Yeah, it was," he laughed. "Today was shitty."

"For you, too?"

"Katniss," he groaned. "Just because I look different doesn't mean I'm all of a sudden comfortable with people looking at me or all this…attention. And you seemed off all day. I didn't mean to snap at you—"

"I didn't mean to snap at you either!"

He turned off the car, and she let out a breath of relief. They took off their seatbelts, but before she could get out of the car, he gave her such a sweet, soft smile that it took everything in her not to reach across the console and caress his cheek with her hand—the one that got pink in the summer and dimpled when he smiled and had a small, white scar from falling off the swings as a kid.

Hadn't he done the same though, that afternoon? Just reached across and touched her face as if it was nothing?

Before she could over think it, she leaned over and threw her arms around his shoulders. The position was awkward, their bodies both bent slightly from their seats, but he immediately brought his arms around her back; she was so slight against him that they reached her sides and held her there lightly, one hand almost at her hip.

She buried her face in his shirt and took in his scent, smelling faintly of soap and bakery spices. "I'm sorry," she mumbled into his shirt.

He laughed lightly and rested the side of his head on top of hers.

"Can I have that on record?"

She reached up and smacked the back of his head lightly.

He pulled away from the embrace far too soon.

"Seriously, you may not feel too happy with me in a second," he said, scratching behind his ear.

"What?" she asked reluctantly. What could he possibly tell her to make this day worse?

"The reason why I was late…" he started.

She finished the sentence in her head a dozen different ways. _I was hanging out with Delly. Glimmer pulled me into a janitor's closet. Marvel's actually been checking _me_ out this entire time, and I think I'm interested._

"Well, I was talking to the coach about wrestling tryouts," he finished, pulling his mouth to the side in a half-grimace, as if bracing himself for her reaction.

"Oh," she said. "I don't care about that."

"Really?" he asked in disbelief.

She had to ask herself the same question. She supposed she didn't _really_ care. It was just another newthing about her best friend that she had to get used to, and there could be much worse things; she was realizing that already.

"Yeah," she shrugged. "I'm sorry I was a bitch about it, I guess I just…"

"It's a lot," he said. "I know."

She felt sick, having put this all on him. It wasn't like he had done it _to_ her. He was dealing with all the changes, too, firsthand.

"Come on," she said, opening the car door. "I'll make you some Swiss Miss."

He followed her across the lawn after locking his car.

"Yeah, no thanks."

"What's wrong with it? Too many calories, pretty boy?" she teased.

"Nooo," he said, opening the screen door for her. "It's disgusting, that's my problem. Got any chocolate bars I could melt down?"

"Oh what, you mean some dark cacao?" she asked an exaggerated accent. They threw their bags on the living room floor, and she turned around with a flourish, her hand on her hip. "Some crème fraiche?"

"This is like dirty talk to me," he said, shaking his head at her. "Keep going."

Her face immediately flushed, and he smiled widely in triumph. He knew she got flustered when anybody made sexual jokes—particularly when they came from his mouth, but maybe he didn't know that last part.

She dropped her hand and turned to walk into the kitchen, immediately rummaging through the cabinets to avoid his eyes.

"Hey, remember that time you tried to spell 'crème _fresh'_ on the bakery chalkboard? That was cute."

"Yeah, you know what's really cute? Those tiny marshmallows that come in the Swiss Miss packets, and that's what you're getting," she said. She gave up on the cabinets and tried to peek on top of the fridge. This is what happened when Haymitch put the groceries away. She could never find a damn thing.

She turned to Peeta, tossing her arms out in exasperation.

"Well, I don't know where—"

Her words dissolved in a gasp as he leaned down, wrapped his arm around the back of her thighs, and lifted her halfway up his body.

She stared down at him in shock.

"It's in the back," he said, his voice low.

"Huh?"

The corner of his mouth quirked up. "It's on top of the fridge, pushed towards the back."

She craned her neck around and, seeing the box, reached out and grabbed it, her hand trembling slightly.

She turned her head back to look at him, his face only a few inches from hers. She looked down into his eyes; from this short distance, she could make out the yellow around his irises. She grasped his shoulder tightly.

After a long moment, he finally released her, letting her slide slowly down the front of his body until her feet touched the floor.

They continued to stare at each other, and though red splotches began to appear on his cheeks, he didn't look away.

"Why didn't _you_ just grab it?" she asked before she could think. Her eyes widened in horror. She wanted to cram the words back into her mouth.

His face fell.

"S-sorry," he whispered, breaking their eye contact and staring at the floor.

_NO_, she wanted to scream. _No, don't be sorry! I liked it. I'm an idiot. Please don't be sorry. _

Before she could form any of those words though, the front door slammed shut. They both turned their heads quickly, rooted to their spots. She forced herself to move, but it felt like she was wading through quicksand. She finally remembered the box in her hand and flipped open the tab on the cardboard box with shaky hands, pulling out two packets. Beside her, she finally felt Peeta move; he pulled out two mugs from the cabinet by the sink.

Prim bounded in the door and stopped short without a word.

"What, no hello?" Katniss asked her, trying to inject lightness into her tone. She turned and found Prim staring at Peeta, who was filling the kettle.

"Prim!" Katniss snapped, when Prim failed to respond.

"Sorry!" she said with wide, apologetic eyes. "I just…Peeta. Look at you!"

"Thanks, squirt," he said, walking over to her with his arms out. "It's good to see you."

"Oh!" Prim said in surprise, as if Peeta had never hugged her before. A blush made its way up her neck, and Katniss gave her sister a confused look.

"Um, we…we missed you around here," Prim said. Peeta slung an arm over her shoulder and gave her a smile. She looked terrified.

"Well, I hope so," Peeta said.

Prim gave him a shaky smile and said nothing. Peeta scrutinized her in confusion. He looked to Katniss for a moment, as if she would have the answer to her little sister's strange behavior, but he dropped his eyes quickly, clearly still uncomfortable after their encounter and her _completely_ idiotic reaction.

"Um," Peeta said, dropping his arm from Prim's shoulder. "I'm gonna go charge my phone in your room, Katniss."

"Yeah, sure," she said quickly, with a bright smile.

_Oh yeah, smile big. Let him use your charger! That'll make up for making him feel like a moron, _she told herself darkly.

She waited until she heard his footsteps on the stairs before turning to her sister. Prim was nervously fiddling with her hair.

"And what's your deal?" Katniss asked sharply.

"What do you mean?"

"You're all blushy and nervous," she accused.

"I am not!" Prim squeaked. "I just, I mean, he looks, ya know…"

"Spit it out," Katniss said, narrowing her eyes.

"He looks _good_, Katniss," she said on a whisper.

She couldn't believe it. Her own sister now, too.

"I can't believe you! You've known him most of your life! He doesn't look that different."

"You _would_ say that," Prim mumbled, making her way to the fridge.

"What was that?"

"I'm just saying," Prim said, pulling out a soda and closing the door behind her. "You would think that. We all know how you feel—"

"Shut up!" Katniss squeaked. She glanced toward the door to the hallway before righting herself and lowering her voice. "I don't know what you're talking about. And, anyway, he's still my best friend, and he's still going to be hanging around here, so can you stop acting like a blushing school girl?"

"I dunno, can _you_?" Prim replied, raising her eyebrows.

Katniss mouth dropped opened, aghast. When did her sister get so damn sassy?

"And he _does_ look different," Prim continued, impervious to her sister's death glare. "Good different. It's not a crime to say, you know. You could tell him, and then maybe you wouldn't have to pine away—"

"It's just Peeta!" she yelled. "I don't see what the big deal is! Why is everyone acting like this? Falling all over him?"

Prim looked at her like she was a lunatic. She felt like one. Her chest was heaving and before she could backtrack, Peeta walked slowly into the room. She hadn't even heard his footsteps on the stairs.

His eyes were downcast.

"Um, I think I'm gonna get going, actually. Forgot my dad needed my help with something," he mumbled at his feet and walked out to the living room before she could respond.

Katniss shared a panicked look with Prim.

_Oh, no_.

She rushed after him as he was picking his backpack off the floor.

"Peeta, I—" She didn't even know how to continue.

"It's been a long day, you know?" he said with his back to her. "I'll just talk to you later."

She let out an involuntary noise, and he turned briefly, offering her a pained smile that didn't reach his eyes. Then he turned and walked out the door.

She fell back onto the couch and took big, shaky breaths. _In. And out_.

She felt Prim lean over the back of the sofa and rest her head on her shoulder.

"I'll finish making your cocoa for you," she said softly.

"Thanks, Duck."

* * *

She lay in her bed, staring at the moving shadows cast on her ceiling from the moonlight through swaying leaves and cars driving past.

Normally, she'd never be in bed this early, but even without any homework, her head had been spinning so much that even aspirin hadn't made a dent and she'd ended up crawling into bed and staring into space for the last hour.

She'd briefly signed into gchat, but Peeta wasn't online. Even now, her phone lay lost somewhere in the sheets from when she'd pick it up every few minutes to send him a text but come up blank and toss it back down.

He had heard her; she had no doubt about that. He heard her shouting in the kitchen to Prim about him not being special…nothing to get excited over…he was _just Peeta_. And she'd never be able to explain to him that the last part meant something different to her than it did to everyone else; that it meant everything.

He had trusted her, for most of his life, with his insecurities— more than anyone else. And all she'd done in the week since he'd been back was act like a jerk and make him feel guilty and shamed—and for something good, no less. She made herself sick.

It wasn't that she didn't _want_ to apologize. She was dying to, actually. She just had no idea what to even say. He already knew she was handling things badly. But how could she explain why she'd flipped out on her own sister and practically claimed he wasn't worth getting worked up over?

She thought of sending him something stupid to make him laugh, but it wouldn't be enough this time. She had properly hurt him, and she couldn't just brush it off. She didn't _want_ to brush it off. In fact, she sort of wished he'd stuck around to yell at her, tell her what a bad friend she was, and force her to get her shit together.

She started scrolling idly through her phone. There were too many pictures of him; it only made her stomach hurt more. Then she came upon a photo of an ugly, squash-colored cat.

Jolting out of bed, she ran to her desk and quickly rummaged through her drawer before she found it.

She sat back on top of the covers and pulled the chain on her bedside lamp to turn it on. Bending her leg, she pulled her ankle towards her, relieved to find she'd shaved recently. She uncapped the Sharpie and wrote in clean, neat script:

**KE + PM**

She took a quick photo in the soft light from her lamp and sent it to him before she could second-guess herself.

_**Katniss: Guess who**_

She had to wait a cruel two minutes for a response.

_**Peeta: …**_

_**Peeta: Greasy Sae? Could be wrong. Never seen her ankle. **_

_**Peeta: Sadly**__._

She laughed at his follow-up. They both knew the lady who ran the diner across the street from the bakery was a kind lady, despite the fact that they had been terrified of her tattoos as children.

It wasn't exactly the response she was hoping for, but at least he was responding.

_**Katniss: Wrong. A lady doesn't show her ankle to just anybody.**_

_**Peeta: Katniss…**_

_**Peeta: I hope that's just marker.**_

_**Katniss: Nope. Found a needle and some ink.**_

_**Peeta: That's gross.**_

Before she could respond, he sent another.

_**Peeta: It looks good on you.**_

She smiled. Every response she could think of was cheesy. She decided she didn't care.

_**Katniss: Good, it may stick around. **_

_**Peeta: Planning on giving up showering?**_

_**Katniss: If that's what it takes. **_

She bit her thumbnail, waiting for a response.

_**Peeta: I'll make sure to get another pine air freshener. You can wear it around your neck.**_

_**Katniss: How thoughtful.**_

_**Peeta: Yeah well, I'm a good friend. **_

Katniss took a steadying breath.

_**Katniss: The best. **_

He sent her a smiley face in return and wished her goodnight. She fell asleep with the phone clenched in her hand, vowing that she'd continue to make it up to him.


	3. Chapter 3

The rest of the week passed less tumultuously, and though Katniss still caught plenty of girls eyeing Peeta appreciatively (_girls who hadn't even given him the time of day before_, she thought angrily), most of them had gotten over the initial shock.

Despite settling back into their routine, however, beneath her and Peeta's light banter there was a tension, possibly even a distance, that had grown between the two of them. But it was nothing so significant that she felt comfortable bringing it up, half-afraid to bring attention to it and possibly cause a greater rift and half-hopeful it would pass in time. They still talked often and walked together to every class, but he was busy at the bakery every day after school, time that he usually spent at her house—much preferring it to his own.

And then there was Delly's near-constant presence. She had started eating lunch with them more often, and when she wasn't occupying Peeta's other side, she was texting him. He wouldn't always respond right away, especially if he and Katniss were talking, but he would check it quickly as it buzzed in his pocket, as if he were afraid to miss it.

_When had Delly ever said anything that crucial?_ Katniss thought bitterly.

Peeta wasn't acting _so_ differently, she had to admit. He still made goofy jokes and was patient and teasing when she was stressed out or irritated, but she felt this made her own odd behavior only stick out more. She was used to protecting him, stepping in when someone made him feel bad, bolstering him when he made _himself_ feel bad. But he didn't need those things anymore. It wasn't as if he was cured of a lifetime of insecurities, but he no longer shuffled down hallways, striving to be invisible to any bully who might come his way; he didn't sit with his jacket over his stomach to hide it or pull at his clothing self-consciously. She felt like most of her purpose as his friend was slipping away, and she was unable to keep hold of any of it. Compared to his good nature and the natural spark that seemed to burn even brighter now, what did she offer in return? She was moody, sullen, and introverted. Now, faced with both the new him and Delly's incessant needling, she felt like the odd man out.

And even more than that, before this, she had thought—at her most hopeful and possibly deluded—that she and Peeta had been growing closer, if it were possible. She recounted moments in her head of the two of them before he'd gone away, times she swore she'd caught him looking at her or finding reasons to stay with her as long as possible. Even after he'd come back, he had seemed to be looking for excuses to touch her, in ways he never had before, and some of his comments seemed to cross the line from teasing to flirtatious.

Now, none of that mattered. Whether those moments were real or just inflated in her memory, all movement in that direction had halted. They were quite firmly in the _just friends_ category, and still, that almost-imperceptible distance that had settled between them left her aching, more than anything, for her best friend back. She knew it was selfish. He was right there, after all. But even _she_ wasn't so inept at judging human behavior that she couldn't feel the difference.

She was trying not to let herself be plagued by these thoughts as they settled down to lunch in the choir room; she was ridiculously easy to read by normal standards, but Peeta seemed to have a preternatural ability to sense her moods before she even understood them herself.

For his lunch, he shook up a grilled chicken salad. She eyed it carefully but stopped herself from saying anything. She wouldn't have dreamed of mocking his food choices before, and even now with the change in his diet and appearance, no matter how much she was tempted, she wasn't going to say anything critical, not anymore. She wasn't going to allow herself to become the person who made him feel bad about himself all the time; she regretfully realized that maybe that's what she _had_ become, and she hated herself a little bit for likely being the cause of any fractures in their relationship. She may have to scold herself or be more aware of her behavior—the latter not a particular strength of hers—but she would do what it took.

"You jealous of my salad?"

Of course, he'd caught her look and seen right through it.

"Looks good," she said mildly.

"It is," he replied smugly, spearing a piece of chicken with his fork. "I made it myself."

"Well, I'm sure it's delicious then," she said. "I hope it fills you up." _Goddammit_, she cringed. Her resolve had lasted about three seconds.

He smiled as if he'd been waiting for this response.

"You're right, it might not," he said with mock sadness and pulled something wrapped in foil from his bag. "I guess to fill up I'll just have to eat this baklava all by myself."

He made a ridiculously forlorn face, even pouting his lips. She narrowed her eyes at him. _Bastard_. He knew she loved baklava.

"Maybe I should take it off your hands. I can't stand by and let your will power be shaken."

"I might be inclined to share," he said, as if carefully weighing the idea. "For the sake of my own health and all."

"Happy to help," she said quickly and grabbed it from his hands.

He smiled at her warmly, and she couldn't resist knocking his knee with her own. He went back to his salad, biting his lip as if to keep from smiling too widely.

Just as Katniss was about to open her mouth, to seize on this now-rare moment of ease, Delly came running up—did the girl ever walk calmly anywhere?

"Oh! Hey, Katniss…" She sounded deflated, as if she hadn't expected her to be there.

"Hello…" Katniss said slowly.

"Um." She hid her hands behind her back bashfully. "Peeta, could I maybe talk to you?"

She eyed Peeta hopefully but regarded Katniss nervously. Was she really suggesting that Katniss leave? She gave Delly an incredulous look and was about to question her when she caught Peeta's eye. He looked at her pleadingly.

She was actually being asked to leave. As if she weren't a friend of both of them. Instead, they were acting like she was intruding on _them_.

Delly must have caught the hurt look on Katniss' face because she immediately backtracked. "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean…Katniss, it's just—"

"It's fine," Katniss said tightly, getting up before either of them burdened themselves with placating her. She was a big girl. She could tell when she wasn't needed. She spotted her friend across the room. "I'll go eat with Madge," she said quickly, grabbing her lunch and mustering up a polite smile, hoping she wasn't coming off as petulant again. If this was how this was going to go, she was at least going to be grown-up about it. She had her dignity, dammit.

She made her way over to where Madge Undersee sat at the piano. Maybe "friend" was a strong word for what she was to Katniss. They had known each other since grade school but never spent any time together outside of school; however, Madge's shy, quiet nature suited Katniss' temperament perfectly, and they often ended up partnering in classes they shared—ones that Peeta wasn't in, at least.

She felt bad using Madge in her moment of desperation. She had never invited her to sit with her and Peeta, but, then, she didn't think that kind of thing required an invitation. It wasn't like they had people lined up to sit at their lunch table. But when Madge saw her walk up, she smiled warmly.

"Hey, Madge, mind if I sit here?" Katniss gestured at the floor. It was silly to ask, probably. It was a dirty piece of carpet from the '50s. Obviously, she could sit there.

"Yeah, sure," Madge smiled. "As long as you don't mind me playing. I already finished my lunch."

"No, of course not. It's beautiful." She meant that sincerely. Her father had instilled in her a great appreciation for music, and Madge played wonderfully.

Madge shot her a thankful smile but stopped playing, anyway.

"So how was your summer?"

"Oh, um," Katniss mumbled, half-chewing on her sandwich. She hated small talk. "It was okay. Worked at the pool, hung out."

"Peeta was away this summer, right?" Madge asked.

It was an innocent and even natural question considering the close nature of her friendship with Peeta, but she felt silly that it was obvious even to an acquaintance how much she relied on his presence.

"Yeah, um, he was."

"I'm sorry. I should have called you or something to hang out," Madge responded. Katniss just shrugged stiffly, bristling at the idea of needing this kind of charity or attention. Madge clearly caught her reaction, though, because she forged on. "No, I just meant—it got pretty lonely around my way, too. My father insisted on me taking prep classes at the community college." She rolled her eyes. "But otherwise, I was just sort of left to my own devices."

Katniss felt a surge of affection for her. More than anything else, the easy nature of their companionship always rested on the fact that neither girl felt pity for the other. She wasn't naïve enough to assume that because Madge came from money and a traditional family that she led a charmed life. Hell, if she had learned anything from her friendship with Peeta, it was how different a family could appear to those outside of it. And she knew Madge was a loner—it wasn't that she couldn't have made more friends; it was that she seemed to prefer the solitude. Katniss could certainly sympathize with that. But then, Katniss had Peeta. She tried to imagine what she'd be like without him; what her life would be like if he hadn't shown up to the funeral all those years ago.

Her gaze drifted to Peeta who seemed to be in the midst of an intense conversation with Delly. Whatever he was saying was deeply felt, the way his eyes were so focused on Delly's face, full of sincerity and compassion. Normally, she'd feel pride and maybe even a rush of warmth at the special way he seemed to have of reaching people. But they were sitting so close together, heads bowed like they were sharing secrets.

Katniss almost flinched, before turning back to Madge, remembering their conversation.

"Well, we should hang out. I'm around, ya know," Katniss said with new resolve. "Just call me."

Madge smiled slyly at her. Katniss didn't like the appraising look on her face.

"That's a nice offer, Katniss, but if you want to make Peeta jealous, I'm sure there are better choices?" Her tone went up like it was a question, and Madge raised her eyebrows as if coaxing her to spill some secret.

Katniss' mouth opened and shut several time like it was on hinges. She knew she must look like an idiot, stammering, heat rushing to her face. But she didn't know what part of that to answer first. She would have felt mildly offended at Mage's rebuff, but instead she was reeling at the idea of being so transparent.

"I'm—I don't," Katniss struggled, deciding to ignore her question. "That's not what I meant. Look, I know it seems sort of out of the blue, but I did mean it. It's not like I don't want to be friends. I just—"

"Never really needed another one with Peeta around?"

Katniss shrugged, slightly ashamed of herself. It wasn't anyone's business how many friends she had, and if she only wanted one _good_ friend, wasn't that her choice? And furthermore, wasn't it preferable to having a legion of friends she couldn't trust, who trash talked and sniped like Glimmer's little army?

But it didn't exactly make sense for her to alienate herself from kind people like Madge just because she was comfortable with the family she already had, real and adopted. She had started to feel that way about Delly, too, but looking across and seeing Delly holding tightly to Peeta's forearm while she talked to him only made the anxiety and anger burn deep in her gut.

"I was just teasing you," Madge said gently, pulling her from her thoughts. "I'd love to hang out. Just wanted to make sure everything was still…okay with you."

As Madge said this, she looked subtly over to where Peeta and Delly sat. Katniss didn't want to talk about this. She didn't even want to think about it herself; it was like an itch crawling under her skin that she couldn't ignore, so she kept scratching at it until she felt raw.

"I think so," Katniss said. She appreciated that Madge usually didn't push her to talk, but this didn't seem like something the girl wanted to let go of. And Katniss had walked all the way over there, practically begging for her company. She couldn't just ignore her.

"Peeta looks good," Madge said lightly.

Katniss took it back. Maybe she could ignore her.

"Yeah, that's what everyone says," Katniss muttered.

"I suppose you don't really care about that."

"Well, why would I? Am I supposed to fall all over him like everyone else because he lost a few pounds?" Katniss asked hotly.

"Well, no," Madge said slowly, as if talking to a child. "But what was your excuse for _not_ falling all over him before now?"

Katniss' brows wrinkled in confusion.

"Listen, before you get angry," Madge started, her hand raised in a placating gesture, "just realize that I'm saying this as a _friend_. But maybe with all the extra attention he's getting, and the fact that you're not exactly the throwing-yourself-at-guys kinda girl, maybe you should step it up a little bit."

Katniss gaped at her. What was Madge even suggesting? And how was a girl she'd never shared an in-depth conversation with so adept at reading her?

"All I'm saying is," Madge continued, "maybe what's obvious to _me_ isn't so obvious to Peeta…for example." Katniss continued to stare at her. "Grab his ass, is what I'm saying," Madge said flatly.

"Madge!"

Katniss gasped, and most of the eyes in the room turned towards them. Katniss tried to ignore them all and widened her eyes pleadingly at Madge.

"No one heard me, it's fine." She lowered her voice, but Katniss gave her a skeptical look. "But you two have been friends for a really long time, and if you want to _move things along_, you're gonna have to give up subtlety. And don't be so scared. If I'm as good at reading people as I think I am, I don't think he'd exactly be opposed to it," Madge said with a sly smile.

Katniss swallowed heavily. Up until this point, she'd mostly just blinked and sputtered—she hadn't actually admitted anything to Madge. But it seemed stupid to deny it at this point.

"Really?" Katniss asked, mild hope in her voice.

"Really." Madge smiled, seemingly relieved to have gotten over that hurdle so they could talk about it freely. "I'm not saying change who you are; you two wouldn't be so close if he didn't already think the world of you. But I'm sure there are things that you've thought about doing, you know? Things you've wanted to do but haven't because you were scared of screwing up your friendship or scaring him off."

Katniss bit her lip nervously in contemplation. Madge took this as a confirmation. "So do those things. What's the worst that could happen?"

Katniss gave her an incredulous look. Was that really a question?

"Okay, okay, your friendship hangs in the balance or whatever," Madge said, waving it off like it was ridiculous. "But he's a dude. Pretty sure he's not going to end a friendship just because you get a little handsy and it turns out he's not interested."

Madge must have read panic in her face because she rushed to continue. "Not that that's going to happen!" she assured her.

The bell rang, signaling the end of lunch; Katniss' mind was reeling. Madge stood, and Katniss slowly rose to her feet beside her.

"Hey, call me or message me or something," Madge said gently under her breath. "If you need to talk about this stuff. I know it's not very convenient to have a best friend who…"

"Is the object of your crush," Katniss finished for her miserably. Madge brightened.

"Exactly!" Madge waved at her and walked out of the room.

Katniss turned to find Peeta waiting for her close by. She felt completely out of sorts, but he smiled at her shyly, hands shoved in his pockets, and she felt her body ease just a bit at the familiar sight. She took a breath and made her way to his side.

It didn't hurt that Delly was nowhere to be found.

* * *

Katniss continued to talk to Madge, regularly chatting with her online after school. Katniss learned that Madge was actually harboring a crush of her own on a college guy who worked for her father. It felt weird to her, initially, the idea that they were basically indulging in "girl talk," something she rarely even did with Prim. But at the end of the day, it really was just the two of them talking about people and relationships and, more often than not, strategizing what moves or actions to take next. It was practical, and _that_ Katniss could handle. As soon as Katniss realized Madge had no intention of bringing "butterflies" or dream weddings into the conversation, she relaxed into their easy friendship.

Day by day, Katniss also struggled to be more open in her affection toward Peeta. The first time she had slipped her arm through his, linking their elbows, he looked down at her in confusion. She had shrugged casually, and he gave her a tentative smile. She supposed that was a good enough reason to continue doing it, as if this were a regular thing they'd always done and he certainly shouldn't question it out loud or anything.

She tried complimenting him as well. This she was _less_ successful at. Every awkwardly worded bit of praise was met with skepticism from him. She tried to compliment the way he looked in clothes, never brave enough to bring up the actual body parts themselves or confirm to him how closely she observed them. He would furrow his eyebrows and thank her, his voice raising in question. She tried not to let it anger her, but that certainly wasn't the reaction he had when _Delly_ said something nice.

She couldn't even remember the last time she'd made him blush. It ate away at her.

The harder she tried, the more uncertain she became about _everything—_about their friendship and the delusional idea that it could ever be anything more.

She'd have given up these stupid attempts altogether if Madge wasn't constantly buzzing in her ear, telling her she had to change the "tone" of their relationship or some shit. Whatever that meant.

They were packing up at the end of the school day, and she was practically breaking out into hives trying to think of a way to "casually" hold his hand but coming up completely blank. If she was going to do that, she might as well take off her top. It seemed just as extreme, as far as she was concerned.

She didn't even register the _clack, clack_ of the heels approaching their bank of lockers.

"Hey, Peeta," came a silky voice.

Katniss turned to find Glimmer at her side, but the blonde acted like she hadn't even noticed her presence; her attention was solely on Peeta.

"Hey," Peeta said shortly, still grabbing stuff from his locker and barely acknowledging her. Katniss almost beamed at him. He wasn't some sucker that lost sight of everything in the presence of a pretty girl…particularly not this bimbo.

"So, did you happen to catch the English assignment?" she smiled and jutted her chest out. Katniss rolled her eyes, struggling not to say anything. Peeta was barely looking in Glimmer's direction.

"Um, yeah, hold on," he said in annoyance. Katniss rarely heard that tone from him, even when he was genuinely irritated by someone.

He pulled out his planner and started looking through it. Glimmer stepped closer to him and pretended to read it over his shoulder. Katniss was barely able to restrain herself, but she knew making a scene wouldn't exactly endear her to Peeta at the moment.

That thought immediately flew out of her head when Glimmer reached forward and rested a hand on Peeta's stomach.

His head shot up, his disgusted expression matching her own. God, she hoped that was disgust.

"Oh, wow, Peeta!" Glimmer giggled and ran her fingers up his chest. "I knew you cut out the cupcakes, but I had no idea—"

Her words were cut off when Katniss crossed the half foot of space between them and shoved Glimmer with such force that she nearly fell over. She just managed to brace herself against the opposite lockers.

"You bitch!" Glimmer hissed furiously.

Katniss wasn't nearly done. She started across the space again, not even caring that Glimmer had half a foot on her own petite frame, but strong arms pulled her back, and, before she could protest, Peeta was pulling her outside as she struggled against his body. They flew out the doors to the parking lot.

Peeta let her go, and she struggled to fix her clothing and hair. She knew she must look like a wild animal.

"What…the hell was _that_?" Peeta breathed out, his chest heaving, his mouth open in shock.

She felt her fury rise back up like a tidal wave.

"What was _that_?!" she nearly screeched. "I don't know, Peeta. What _was_ that? Maybe it was the biggest bitch in the school putting her fucking hands all over you!"

"Did it look like I was asking for it?"

"It looked like you weren't doing a damn thing about it!"

"I don't even…" He pulled his hands through his hair in frustration, causing curls to stand on end. "I don't understand what you're doing lately."

"What does that mean?" she asked, her heart clenching painfully.

"I just—I know you feel the need to protect me sometimes but," he breathed heavily, his eyes wide and intense, "this is getting ridiculous, Katniss. I never know how you're going to react to anything. When you're going to fly off the handle or…or—"

"Or what?" she asked coldly. He flinched at her tone. He knew her well enough to know that her iciness was almost worse than her fire. "You know what? Don't answer that. Here's a hint: If the same chick who I've watched bully you for years starts humping your leg, and you stand there and do _nothing_, I'm gonna get a little pissed!"

"I don't need you to fight my battles, Katniss!" he shouted.

Her heart stopped, and she sucked in breath just as he did the same. _I don't need you. _It echoed in her head.

She started to turn away, but he grabbed her hand.

"Wait, listen, I didn't mean it that way," he pleaded, pulling her closer. "You've always been there for me, I know that. I just don't want to take it for granted. I need to just…learn to let this stuff roll off my back on my own."

"What does that mean?" she asked quietly, bravely attempting to hold his gaze.

"Nothing! Nothing bad, I swear." He tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, and she let her eyes close at the gesture. "I just need to know that I can do it for myself, too. I need that, I think."

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. She opened her mouth to speak before she even knew what she was going to say; she was hoping he could make sense of it, to be honest. But his phone rang.

"Shit," he said, looking at the caller id. "I'm running late for my shift. Can I just drop you off at home and then…we can talk about this later?"

She shrugged absently and started walking toward his car. She tried to remember his words on the drive home, but they got all jumbled in her head, and she couldn't sort the good from the bad. All she saw was Glimmer's claws making their way over his chest. He tried to catch her eye and give her reassuring looks, but she stared out the window. The drive was quick and silent.

* * *

She stood outside the bakery as she waited for a customer to leave. It was cold. She hadn't really thought about it before she made her way over, and now the sun was setting, and she was rubbing her arms over her sweater.

She'd spent the afternoon in an unhappy daze. She'd attempted to do homework without much success. Prim had tried pulling her into conversation, but it hadn't gone anywhere. She heard her gchat beeping with a message from Madge, but she resolutely ignored her computer.

Hours later, she still didn't know what she was going to say or what she wanted _him_ to say, but she couldn't go on like this, being so confused all the time, feeling uncomfortable around one of the most important people in her life. She clearly wasn't figuring any of this out on her own. Would it really be that selfish to expect Peeta to do it? To at least shed some light on…anything, at this point?

The door swung open as the customer exited, and she caught it without thinking, quickly slipping inside.

Peeta looked up from where he was writing down an order.

"Hey," he said softly, a smile lighting up his face. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, um, I just thought we could talk." She pulled her sleeves over her hands nervously and looked around to make sure they were alone.

"Yeah, sure," he said, walking around the counter and pulling her to one of the small cafe tables that lined the wall.

She slid into the booth as he wiped his hands on his apron and sat down across from her. He looked at her expectantly, and she shrugged. "I kind of thought you could start," she said.

He rolled his eyes and groaned. "Uh huh." She just kept looking at him, and he entwined his fingers on the tabletop thoughtfully. "Well…you've been acting kind of weird."

"That's not what I meant!" she huffed, crossing her arms.

"Okay, okay," he laughed. He shifted in his seat and took on a more serious tone. "I wasn't really mad today. I didn't want you to think that. It was just…overwhelming."

"Yeah, I'm aware," she said sarcastically. "I was about to claw at her face."

"Katniss, I didn't like having her touch me," he said, his eyes serious. "I was just…in shock, I guess. People keep doing it, not just Glimmer."

Katniss narrowed her eyes angrily but bit her tongue. The more he spoke, the more somber he became, and she didn't want to miss what he was coming around to.

"At first, I thought it made me uncomfortable just because I was so unused to it. Then I just realized—I don't like feeling like my body is something outside of me, you know?"

Her eyebrows furrowed, and he went on.

"Like before, people would…say things about me or look at…I don't know." He flushed red and looked down. Her chest ached, and she longed to reach across the table for his hand. "But it wasn't _me_, you know? They weren't really looking at me. It was just parts. And now that those parts have changed, people are doing the same thing, and I know it's in a positive way, but I just…I can't get used to the feeling of being boiled down to that."

She felt like an idiot. She had been so worried about her own place in their friendship. She knew that he was uncomfortable, of course, that he was adjusting, but she'd had no idea that it actually hurt him or that the scars ran that deep.

She also scolded herself for all the ways she'd tried to touch him in the last few weeks. Of course, he would have misread that, too. When had she ever done anything regarding her feelings in a clear, obvious way?

Before she could think of anything even faintly insightful or comforting to say, the door to the kitchen swung open.

His mother walked in and narrowed her eyes at finding him sitting at the table _with her_. There was no love lost between Katniss and his mother, and it only served to infuriate the woman more that Katniss was always willing to stand up for him. Katniss narrowed her eyes, and Peeta's widened.

"Peeta, get your ass back behind the counter," she bit out. "We don't pay you to jerk off with your friends."

"Mom," he said slowly and Katniss could see his fists clenching on the table. "I'm just taking my break. I haven't had one today."

"Oh, your break?" she asked with mock sincerity. Peeta winced as if he knew what was coming, and Katniss just stared in horror like she was watching a car crash. "You'd like to sit around some more, would you? Maybe let your ass get fat again, hoard some more baked goods? It wouldn't be the first time a little bit of hard work _completely_ overwhelmed you, would it?"

Peeta stared at the table. Katniss saw that his hands were trembling. For once, she didn't shout back or jump in with a quick defense. She just sat frozen. Her heart felt like it could crack in two at the look on his face.

But she couldn't bear to think of him standing on shaky feet and cowering past his mother and back to his post.

Katniss stood up and pulled her wallet from her pocket. She crossed to the counter, and when she neared the woman, she thought she saw a flash of uncertainty cross her face. Katniss didn't break her gaze until she got to the front and, drawing a bill from her wallet, slapped it down forcefully by the register before jumping on top of the counter far enough that she could reach a cookie from the display. She heard Mrs. Mellark gasp.

She landed back on her feet and walked to their table, setting the cookie down and facing his mother again.

"I'm a paying customer. He's serving me," Katniss said icily. "And don't you close soon, anyway? You don't know your own hours?"

She saw the woman grit her teeth, but Katniss stood her ground, standing protectively in front of the bench where Peeta had yet to turn away from the wall.

Finally, with narrowed eyes, Mrs. Mellark turned and walked back into the kitchen.

Katniss sunk onto the bench slowly and immediately slid close to Peeta. She pressed herself against his back, wrapping her free arm around his chest from behind. He tucked it under his own and grasped her hand. She felt him take a shaky breath.

"I'm sorry," she whispered into his ear.

"That's my line," he said hoarsely, a hint of humor in his voice that must have cost him some effort.

"You didn't do anything wrong," she said lowly.

He lifted his shoulder toward his ear as if it tickled. She laid her chin on his back and waited. When he didn't say anything, she decided to ask what she knew they couldn't avoid.

"I didn't know…" she started. "I didn't know it was still that bad. I knew she was awful but I…Is she always like this?"

"Um, depends. Better some days, worse others," he said quietly. He tried to slightly crane his neck to look at her, but she caught the glassy, pained look in his eye.

"You don't have to turn around," she whispered.

This seemed to steady him, and he took a deep breath, facing back toward the wall.

"I never told you this. She, um…Before, when I was, you know, _chubby_," he let out a bitter laugh, and she squeezed him tighter. "She used to fix me a different plate from everyone else. Steamed broccoli, asparagus…sometimes half a piece of fish if I was lucky."

"Peeta," she breathed out.

"It wasn't always like that," he said, as if that were reassuring. "Just as I got older, and it became clear I wasn't 'growing out of it.' Dad used to just give me these pitying looks across the table, but he never really said anything. Most of the time, though, he and my brothers would sneak me food at night. You know, rolls, pastries…anything leftover from the bakery that she wouldn't notice was missing."

Katniss felt a tear roll down her cheek. She pressed her face into his back and hoped that he wouldn't be able to feel it seeping through his shirt.

"I used to leave them sitting all night, hidden under my bed, determined that I wasn't going to eat them, you know? That maybe I could hold off, and things would change, and I could be what she wanted me to be. I never could hold out though…_obviously_."

"Peeta, she was starving you," she said as sternly as she could with a trembling voice.

"I know," he whispered. "But I believed her. I thought I was something to fix."

Katniss couldn't keep herself from sniffling. He turned around, and his eyes were wet. He looked at her with concern, as if she were the one in need of comfort.

"There's nothing wrong with you," she whispered before he could say anything.

"I wish I'd believed you instead," he whispered back.

"Me too." They both laughed shakily. "I'm sorry I didn't know. I should have known. You're my best friend."

He grabbed her hands before she could go on.

"Katniss, I didn't _want_ you to know, trust me. And I meant it when I said I did this for me. I feel better about myself. I do. It just…it's not always as simple as that."

Katniss nodded and pulled her hands away, swiping at her cheeks roughly. She felt ashamed that she hadn't seen all this, at least not the depth of it. And she was slightly hurt that he never told her the full story. But she had to understand where he was coming from, as his friend—she had to try.

As if sensing her internal struggle, he spoke up.

"For what it's worth, I know you've struggled with all this…change," he said. "But the fact that you were _mad_ that I'd lost weight…silly as that sounds, it meant a lot to me. Really."

"Okay," she said with a half-smile.

"I should close up," he said finally, looking around the empty bakery.

"Do you need help?" she asked as she slid out of the booth so he could get up.

"No," he smiled. "But stick around, and I'll drive you home. You're not walking this late."

"It's like, what, 7 o'clock, townie?"

He narrowed his eyes at her, which looked slightly ridiculous considering they were still red-rimmed, but at least she could tell he was stifling a smile.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Big City," he replied. "But out here, we have like one street lamp per block, and you didn't even bring a jacket, so you'll wait until I can bring the horse and buggy 'round so that I can escort you."

She giggled, savoring the moment of lightness as she watched him wipe down the countertops. Then she spotted the bill she'd slapped down earlier. It brought her mood straight back down. This didn't escape Peeta's notice.

"What's wrong?"

"Peeta, you…" she said, hating herself for bringing him back to the subject. But she couldn't just let it go. "You know you can always stay with us, if you need to. I don't want you here if she's…doing those things."

"It's really fine, Katniss," he said, and she scowled at him. "Okay, it's not _fine_. But she really only gets like that once in a while, usually when we're alone, and I don't let it happen that often. Really."

She didn't feel placated by this. So Mrs. Mellark was only emotionally and physically abusive _some_ of the time? On top of that, how could Katniss trust what he said? He'd been hiding so much, and maybe with good reason, but she didn't want him to think he had to do that. She wanted to be there for him…for everything.

"Okay, but I mean it. My place is always open to you."

"And what would Haymitch think of that?" he asked with a smile, grabbing the broom and sweeping behind the counter. "A boy sleeping over at your place?"

"It's just you and me," she said with a shrug. "What could he have to worry about?"

His face fell, and he nodded shortly before dropping behind the counter to reach for the dustpan. He didn't turn around again until he was completely done.

Katniss felt the moment slip through her hands like sand.

* * *

She and Madge were sitting in the library after school, poring over their AP History notes. A whirl of blonde hair swept into Katniss' peripheral as Delly plunked down in a seat at the table.

"Hey, guys!"

"Shh!" Katniss and Madge both urged her. Technically, they were seated in a section where group work and talking were allowed, but Delly's voice carried in the space, and she rarely had the ability to control it.

"Sorry!" she said in a soft voice that was still too loud to be considered a whisper.

"What are you so happy about?" Madge asked her, eyeing her giddy expression.

Katniss wasn't nearly as interested. Delly had been treating her like a third wheel since the beginning of the semester; not content with just hanging out as a group, she seemed to monopolize Peeta's time even outside of school. Katniss resented her for being just as shallow as everyone else and moving in on Peeta _after_ his looks had changed. And if she was just intent on friendship, then why was she shutting Katniss out?

Not that it would look like that to anyone on the outside—Delly's demeanor at its worst could never come close to something like the cold shoulder, but Katniss couldn't help feeling that way. It's not like she wanted Delly to be texting or calling _her_ at all hours, but why did she suddenly need to move in on her best friend?

And she didn't know how Peeta felt about any of that. She asked about his time spent with Delly, but he was maddeningly vague, and she tried not to let feelings of irrational jealousy plague her. He couldn't possibly be interested in Delly…could he?

"Nothing," Delly replied with artificial bashfulness before leaning in excitedly. "Okay, that's not true!"

Delly shook her legs in excitement, Katniss rolled her eyes, and Madge shot her friend an amused look.

"I have a date!" Delly squealed.

Katniss' heart dropped to her stomach. Madge's eyes widened and settled fearfully on her. She wisely hadn't pushed Katniss on the subject, but every time it came up, Madge shrugged it off.

_Don't even worry about it. It's just Delly. She's like that with everyone. He doesn't even look at her that way, trust me. I can tell._

Katniss could tell all of Madge's false bravado was flying out the window at this moment. Madge looked between the two girls, one ecstatic and the other pale with fear and possibly growing ire. "With, um…with who?" she asked slowly, as if dreading the answer.

"Thresh!" Delly said cheerfully, still bouncing in her chair.

They both let out huge breaths; it didn't escape Delly's notice.

"Why? What's wrong? Who'd you think—"

"No one!" Madge cut in quickly.

Delly was more perceptive than they gave her credit for. She saw Katniss' expression, still tight and only slowly regaining color.

"Katniss? What's wrong? Did something happen?" she asked sympathetically.

"No, not at all," Katniss said quickly, hoping to drop the subject.

"So tell us about your date!" Madge jumped in.

Delly wasn't taking the bait. She looked at Katniss, studying her face gently. "No, no. It's silly. I didn't mean to interrupt, especially if Katniss is upset about something."

"I'm not upset," Katniss bit out.

"She's not upset," Madge repeated gently. "She just thought…"

Madge trailed off at Katniss' deadly expression.

"Thought what?" Delly asked, head turning back and forth between the two like it was a tennis match. "You thought…oh!" she gasped dramatically and covered her mouth with her hands.

Katniss groaned and dropped her head into hers. "Please don't," she mumbled into her hands. Madge shrank back into her seat.

"Katniss, did you think that…me and _Peeta_…?"

"No!" Katniss shot up quickly. "Of course not. I mean, I don't know what you and Peeta…I don't _care._ We were just…curious."

Mage nodded her head quickly in solidarity.

"But that's great about Thresh! Tell us about that," Katniss continued with false enthusiasm. Delly just narrowed her eyes skeptically.

"Nooo, why don't we talk about Peeta?" she said, like she was bringing a 5-year-old down from a tantrum. "I would never do that to you. Or to him. I mean, he's like my brother."

"Well, I don't…he doesn't _belong_ to me," Katniss said and hurried on before Delly could cut in, "And besides it's just, you know, a natural assumption. You've been hanging around him and texting him _all_ the time."

She tried to keep the bitterness out of her tone, but Delly seemed to take it to heart and deflated slightly. She looked down at her polished nails, picking at them.

"Oh, no, I didn't mean for you to think…" She took a huge breath, and Madge and Katniss looked at each other, confused at the change in her demeanor. "Peeta's just…very understanding. And there have been certain things…"

They silently urged her to go on.

"Oh, you two wouldn't understand!" she said more angrily than they'd ever heard her. She quickly backtracked. "I didn't mean it that way, I'm sorry. It's just that you two are so _pretty_ and _thin,_ and I don't want to assume that it's easy for you guys, but it's not for me, and it's not for Peeta. But when he came back, I just…"

Katniss reached out and placed her hand gently on her back as Delly took a steadying breath. She may not have had the same cause for her distraught, frazzled reactions toward Peeta, but she could tell now that she hadn't been alone. And she only wished she had known that, for her sake and for Delly's.

Delly smiled at her gratefully.

"I didn't even realize," Katniss told her.

"It's okay," Delly shrugged. "I guess I just felt like the odd duck. And I wish these feelings would go away, but they just don't, and Peeta understands. Even now. I didn't mean to rely on him so much that you—"

"I was being selfish," Katniss admitted. "And paranoid." Madge snorted, and Katniss glared at her. "For what it's worth, Delly," she continued, "part of the reason it never occurred to me is…well, you're really…"

"You're hot," Madge finished.

"Yes, that's…sort of what I meant," Katniss finished.

Delly's face burned. "I am not!" she gasped.

"You are," Katniss laughed, her chest feeling light again. "You know I wouldn't say that if I didn't mean it. I don't just pass out compliments."

Delly looked like she wanted to agree but didn't want to be rude. Madge just laughed.

"Like, why would I even bother wearing a dress? I wouldn't look like that," Katniss said, gesturing at Delly.

"Oh, you would, too! You'd look lovely. I could even loan you something," Delly claimed in excitement.

"I don't think that's what she meant, Del," Madge said.

"Can we just get back to what brought you in here?" Katniss asked. Delly looked confused, and Katniss rolled her eyes. "Thresh?"

"Oh!" Delly exclaimed, and a smile stretched across her face.

Delly sat there as she gushed about Thresh and how nice he was (and handsome, too, not that that mattered), and how out of the blue it was for him to ask her, considering he was so quiet, but she could probably do enough talking for the both of them. Katniss agreed.

Eventually, they got Delly to calm down enough that she joined them in getting back to their work. They got a solid hour of studying in before they started packing up their bags.

"Katniss," Delly said softly. "I hope that everything's okay with us now. I never meant…"

"It's okay, Delly, really. You didn't do anything wrong. I was just being stupid."

"Well," Delly said slowly. "Maybe."

Katniss paused at shoving a binder into her bag. "What does that mean?" she asked carefully.

"Oh, nothing! Just that you two are ridiculous sometimes. I don't know why you have to make it so complicated," she said irritably, and both Madge and Katniss looked shocked. "I just don't know what either of you are waiting for!"

And she flounced out of the room.

"Holy shit," Madge laughed. "She got you good."

"Shut up," Katniss glowered.

* * *

Peeta sat at the other end of the couch, idly grabbing for the popcorn between them as they watched a marathon of _Dexter_. Katniss watched the counter on the DVD player and knew the episode would be over in just a few minutes. Peeta was riveted by whatever cliffhanger the episode was building toward. She sat there, nervously running her sweaty palms over her jeans, unable to focus on anything except what she would do with the break between episodes.

What Delly had said hit her like a shock to the gut, even a week later. She had turned it over in her head a million times. It wasn't like she didn't already know those things. Hadn't she been making a fool out of herself for almost a year now, making clumsy advances or leaving vague hints that she hoped he'd pick up on? She felt like a silly school girl for even letting it affect her that much, but this wasn't a fleeting crush. This was Peeta. He was a part of her, like some appendage that, if removed, would make it more difficult for her to breathe. She didn't have many people like that. It wasn't a small thing—not to her.

She was foolish to think that their friendship could go back to what it was. The thought had always made her feel faintly dizzy, ever since she'd first started developing feelings for him—like she was trying to stand still while things spun around her, desperately seeking something to steady her.

But they weren't 12 anymore. These feelings weren't going away. Even after the misunderstanding with Delly had been cleared up, she only had a moment's peace before she thought—_what if it had been some other girl? Someone he didn't view like a sister? Someone who, like Delly, knew how special he was?_ Suddenly, that seemed even worse than him dating some jerk like Glimmer.

So, she was just going to do it. Get it over with. And if he didn't feel the same way, well, then she just had to trust that he'd stick around, anyway, because he always had, through all the shitty things that had happened—to both of them. That's just what they did for each other.

"Oh, man," Peeta said, and she was startled back into focus. He muted the TV when it went to the main menu. "I get anxiety _every_ time. Dude needs to pick his kill rooms better."

She laughed nervously.

"I swear, he's one step away from cutting someone up at Disneyland in the middle of the day." He smiled at his own joke and looked for her response, but anxiety burned in her stomach, and she couldn't absorb his words.

"You feeling all right?" he asked, his face filling with concern.

"Mm," she mumbled, picking up the bowl and taking it to the kitchen for something to do.

When she came back, he was waiting for her, arm over the back of the couch, studying her movements. "We can go outside if you want," he offered lightly. "I know we've been watching TV for like…I don't even know what day it is."

She smiled lightly and braced herself.

She sat down, turning sideways on the couch to face him, hands twisting in her lap. "I actually, um, wanted to talk to you about something," she said quietly.

"Yeah, sure, what's up?" he asked.

She focused on the scar on his cheek. She remembered him telling her about it when they were little-how he'd gotten in a fight with Marc and the fastener on his brother's boot had nicked his face. He and Katniss had compared scars like they were badges of honor, and whoever had the most was the toughest. They had collapsed in a fit of giggles before they could figure out the winner.

Her gaze flitted between that scar and his eyes.

"I was wondering, um," Katniss started, willing her voice not to shake. "Well, I was thinking maybe we could go out…sometime?" She ended her sentence in a far higher register than her voice normally went, but she'd gotten it out, at least.

"Yeah, sure. Where do you want to go?"

His tone was so casual that she knew he hadn't understood her.

"Um, nowhere in particular, I just, um." He looked confused, and she shook her head, forcing herself to forge ahead, "I meant, actually, that maybe you and I could go out somewhere…just you and me."

He kept staring at her silently, as if to say, _Yeah, we do that all the time._

"On a date," she finished and let out the breath she'd been holding.

She tried to maintain eye contact for as long as possible to let him know she was serious, but his blue eyes were unblinking and wide with shock. She finally dropped her gaze to her lap, willing herself not to bolt out of the room.

"You want to…go out on a date with me?"

"Um, yes," she replied quietly, fiddling with her hands.

"What brought this on, Katniss?"

She finally glanced up to find him looking at her suspiciously.

She had expected awkwardness, maybe pity. She'd expected him to fumble but eventually come to some conclusion for her. She'd hoped somewhere—deep down in places that she hid from everyone—that he'd be happy. But she hadn't expected him to eye her skeptically as if she were luring him into a trap.

"What do you mean?" she asked slowly.

"I mean, I'm just having a hard time wrapping my head around this. We've been friends for so long, and you've never hinted at anything like this before."

Her heart sunk. She was so stupid.

As if wearing a certain shirt was going to make her desirable to him; as if sending an "xo" would make him envision enacting those things with _her, _of all people. Every stupid little hint she'd lost sleep over, every deliberate signal she'd sent that had made her breath quicken and her face burn red—they'd all been utterly lost on him. And why would any of that _ever_ make him feel the same way in return?

"Um, I thought that," she struggled for words, her voice definitely shaking now. "I guess I thought you would want…or maybe understood that I, I—"

She had to stop to swallow heavily. She kept her eyes wide open for fear that blinking would release the moisture she could feel pooling in the corners.

"I just don't understand this," he said. "I thought you of all people…my _best_ friend. I thought you liked me for me. I don't know why that's all changed now."

"What?" she breathed in shock. "Of course, I—"

"Then why now? The way you've been acting, all territorial and flirty some moments and angry the next," he said, running his hands through his hair. "You know, you're not going to lose me to some random girl, okay? You don't need to do this. You don't need to date the 'former fat kid' to keep me as a best friend or justify our relationship or because I'm not so embarrassing to be seen with anymore—"

"Get out," she croaked.

His mouth dropped open in shock. There was a beat of heavy silence before he responded.

"What?"

"Get out," she repeated, keeping her voice as strong and steady as possible as she blinked tears from her eyes.

"Katniss," he breathed.

"No, you're right. I guess I don't understand you at all. And right now I don't want to," she said. "Please, go."

She screwed her eyes shut tightly. She wanted to disappear. She could faintly hear him leaving, but she tried to drown out all sensations. She wanted to escape into black.

Eventually, she made it up to her bedroom. She didn't bother looking at the time before pulling the blanket over her head.

* * *

**Author's note: Um, I'm sorry? Please don't hurt me. **

**I also apologize for the delay—I was participating in Prompts in Panem (it's an awesome Everlark challenge on Tumblr if you haven't checked it out; I'm at pearlofkatniss). But I promise I won't leave you hanging too long for the conclusion. Thanks so much for all your kind words and reviews. I appreciate them all.**

**As always, much thanks to misshoneywell, and to atetheredmind for her awesome beta work. **

******Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belong to Suzanne Collins.**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: I can't apologize enough for how long this took. Real life stuff came up, but I won't bore you with excuses. This chapter is about twice as long as the others, so hopefully that goes some way to making up for it. Thanks for your patience and encouragement! **

**Disclaimer: The Hunger Games belongs to Suzanne Collins**

**Also, a reminder that this is rated M. Read at your own discretion. ;)**

* * *

"Katniss," came a soft voice. "You awake?"

The bed dipped next to her, and a small, warm presence pressed up against her back.

"The DVD player was on downstairs. I brought up your phone," Prim said. "You have a bunch of missed calls and texts."

Katniss just grunted. Prim lay quietly by her side, not saying anything or asking if she was okay. Katniss pulled the covers from her head and looked at her sister, who wore a sympathetic expression. Katniss eyed her suspiciously.

"Did you read my texts?" she asked after a moment.

Prim had the decency to look guilty.

"Um, maybe? I'm sorry! You haven't come down since I got home. I couldn't help it."

Katniss just turned back over and faced her window. It was dark out now.

"I don't know what happened, but Peeta seems worried."

She'd willed herself to shut down the feelings that seemed to overwhelm her, but one flared up more intensely than the rest: anger.

_He was __**worried**__?_ She seethed.

It was easier to feel anger than anything else. It burned hot and fast, and it helped suppress the ache. She'd only ever done her best to try and read his feelings and understand them. She wasn't naturally empathetic. It wasn't easy for her. _He_ should have been good at it. But she laid herself bare, and he threw it in her face. As if it wasn't enough to reject her, he had to question her as a friend, as well.

She didn't care how other people saw her. She didn't need to be thought of her as smart or talented or kind. But she was a good sister to Prim and a good friend to Peeta, and those were things she had known, without a doubt, and she felt like the rug had been ripped out from under her. Maybe she _didn't_ know him. Not at all.

She took her sister's hand.

"I'm okay, Duck."

Prim snuggled in closer.

"Are we mad at Peeta?" she asked conspiratorially. Katniss only hummed in agreement. She closed her eyes against the pressure in her skull. "Well, fuck _him_."

Katniss' eyes shot open to find Prim smiling sheepishly. The corner of her mouth turned up.

"You've been spending too much time with Haymitch."

Prim just shrugged. "At least, now I know how to kill a man with my bare hands."

Prim kept a straight face for as long as possible until Katniss snorted, then she followed in a fit of laughter.

Katniss' door swung open. Her anger flared up again; she felt it bubbling and ready to break the surface at any moment.

"Can you knock?" she snapped.

Haymitch just leaned against the doorframe.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I heard a bunch of giggling. Didn't know I was interrupting the brain trust. You sure you girls don't want me to reserve the Situation Room?"

Katniss rolled her eyes, and Prim laughed, earning a smirk from Haymitch.

"So what's goin' on? I don't need to go on a tampon run, do I?" Haymitch asked with a grimace.

"No, please, stop," Katniss groaned, burying her face in the pillow.

"Katniss doesn't feel well," Prim answered, rubbing her back. She took Katniss' phone that had been clutched in her hand and switched the ringer off. "I'll go make you some tea." She walked out of the room, and Haymitch ruffled her hair as she passed.

"So what's wrong?" he persisted. She wanted to scream at him, but she knew from experienced that the more she pushed him, the deeper he dug his feet in. "Plague? Consumption?"

She ignored him.

"Boy?"

"Why are you always everywhere with something to say?" she grumbled.

"So that's it, then." He made his way over to her bed and sat at the edge.

"If you're here to tell me it's stupid—" she started, refusing to look at him.

"Well, of course, it's stupid!" She tried to kick him, but he grabbed her ankle through the comforter to keep it from moving. "Always is. Hell, _boys_ are stupid. Doesn't mean it doesn't feel like shit."

"So you have some sage advice, do you?"

He snorted. "Hardly. I probably won't even remember this in the morning." She tried to sink farther into her bed. "You girls are fed, clothed, and your noses are clean. I figure anything beyond that's out of my jurisdiction.

Katniss had never been much of a crier, and she didn't sulk so much as stew. Over the years, Haymitch had learned to deal with Prim when she was upset or sensitive, and he'd progressed beyond just an awkward pat on the back. But Katniss was an entirely different story.

It seemed to Katniss as if she'd been at odds with him since he first took over parenting duties from his vacant, deeply depressed sister-in-law. She knew his reluctance at taking this role didn't stem from worries about his own life goals—he'd already fucked those up good enough for himself, PTSD from his tours of duty transforming him from a promising boy with genius-level strategic skills to a haggard alcoholic, robbed of youth and abilities, left to pay the bills by doing mid-level security jobs.

He'd once drunkenly confessed that if he was worth anything, it rested on any small measure of comfort he'd managed to provide the girls. And even that he figured he half-assed part of the time. It didn't help that one of them could reach the full spectrum of human emotion, generally wreaking havoc on his hangovers, and the other was never short on stubbornness and fire. _At least, I'm consistent_, Katniss thought.

"You're right," she said. "So you can leave now."

Her face angled toward the window, and he could see dried tear stains on her cheek. He cursed under his breath.

"Listen, you can stew all weekend if you want, but tomorrow we're going to Prim's recital…dance thing…whatever," he said, throwing up his hands. "Because if I'm sittin' through that, then you sure as hell are, too. Then come Monday, you're going to school, as usual."

"Wow, thanks for the pep talk," she said icily. She glowered at him before trying to dislodge him from the bed with her foot.

"Hey!" he shouted, grabbing her ankle again. He leveled her with a stare that stopped all her movements. "This is _not_ the worst thing you've ever been through. Most things can be fixed, if you're not too lazy or stubborn to do it. You may not be an angel, sweetheart, but he's no saint. And you've been through enough to know what people are worth."

He held her gaze for a long moment before she finally softened and brought her arms around herself. He got up from the bed. As he reached the door, he spoke again.

"'Sides, boy's the only one who ever fills up the damn ice cube trays around here," he said, shuffling out.

Prim eventually returned with her tea and a box of cookies. The two hunkered down in Katniss' bed for the night, and as much as she longed for quiet, Prim's voice chased away the pain so that it settled in the back of her mind where she could forget about it for a while.

Prim told her all the junior high gossip—girls getting catty in the bathroom, a boy being sent home from school for having blue hair, guys she thought were cute and ones she thought were annoying. Katniss smiled at this. Because boys really were fucking stupid. And she was dumb enough to get caught up in it.

She should have known better.

* * *

She swung by their joint locker early Monday morning, grabbing anything she might need for the rest of the week. She didn't want to be visiting it any more than she had to.

Haymitch had dropped her off early, claiming he'd been up already and just wanted to get the two of them out of the house so he could sleep in peace. She was grateful enough not to give him any trouble in return.

She had managed to avoid Peeta all weekend.

She tried going through her texts from him but only got through two until she had to stop.

_**Please talk to me.**_

_**I never meant to hurt you.**_

She deleted the rest of them along with the voicemails; she couldn't bear to hear the pity in his voice.

She thought he may have stopped by at one point, but she'd been sleeping the afternoon away and couldn't tell if it was a dream or not—his voice carrying from the front door over Haymitch's grumbles. Either way, it filled her with both hope and anxiety, and she tried to lose herself in sleep before either emotion could take hold.

Madge had tried getting in touch with her, too, and eventually Katniss just wrote her a long email detailing everything that happened in cut-and-dry, emotionless language. That way, Madge could take it as it was without being able to interject or ask searching, sympathetic questions.

Katniss aimlessly wandered the halls, waiting for class to start. She thought about making her way towards her old locker and reclaiming it. She had been observing her surroundings closely, making sure she had a clear exit in case he decided to pop up and surprise her.

But she never saw his fair hair peeking above the crowd. Instead, it was his walk that gave him away. Her ears perked up when she heard his familiar gait and the slight squeak in his favorite pair of shoes.

She refused to turn around and face the source of the noise. She walked quickly, trying to determine how long it would take her to get to her first period classroom, when she heard his footsteps pick up.

"Katniss!" he called out over the crowd. "Katniss, wait!"

Panicked, she ducked into the girl's restroom on her right. It was slowly emptying of people as the first warning bell rang. She pretended to busy herself with washing her hands.

She took deep breaths before moving over to the door, not leaving until she heard the sound of his footsteps walking away.

She took the tardy for her first class without complaint.

It wasn't worth it to do the same for her second. They shared that class, anyway. She hoped that people would be milling around by the time she got there so that he would take the hint to leave her alone. He knew how much she hated being the center of attention. She only hoped he still cared enough to respect that.

When she got to Physics, she ended up taking a seat in the row by the wall as it ensured that no one could sit next to her on her right side. Unfortunately, this meant that the seat to her left was occupied by Marvel.

"Hey, Katniss," he said with a slow smile, seemingly delighted that she had chosen to sit in his proximity.

"Hi," she replied shortly.

He looked around and then turned to her again. She tried to busy herself with her notebook, thinking that he would take the hint. He didn't.

"Where's Peeta-Bread?" he asked. She sighed deeply.

"Don't call him that."

"Sorry," he conceded. "So where is he?"

"I don't know," she said shortly.

"Oh," he said. He seemed to fiddle for a moment, and she prayed more people would come in to fill up the silence. "You have a fight or something?"

She didn't answer him, just crossed her arms and shifted in her seat so he couldn't study her profile so intently.

"Well," he ventured cautiously, "I can be your partner for lab today…if you want."

Normally, she would have scoffed or rolled her eyes or told him to get real.

"Okay," she said.

She heard him exhale, almost contentedly, but she didn't face him again. She kept her face toward the window as people began filing in, dulling her senses until all her attention was focused on the movement of the shadows on the grass as the sun peeked behind clouds—until a figure walked between her and the window, blocking her view.

She didn't have to tilt her head up to know who it was. Her eyes quickly flitted away from blue flannel to face the front of the class again.

"Will you _please_ talk to me?" came his weary voice.

She didn't think she needed to tell him to go away or leave her alone anymore. He already knew that's what she wanted; he just chose to ignore it.

She didn't know what she would say if he _did_ coax her into a conversation. She felt drained and used up somehow, like she'd offered the best of herself, and it hadn't been enough. She didn't even know what she had left to offer, what he wanted, or if she had the energy to give it. She'd never felt her own shortcomings so acutely.

And if that weren't enough, he'd accused her of being shallow and a bad friend, of having some false motive. If that's really what he thought about her after all these years, then why expend the effort trying to make him believe otherwise?

She stared straight ahead blankly.

He crouched down by her desk and tried to grab her hand. She flinched and pulled it away as if his touch scalded. "Katniss…" he pleaded.

"Why don't you leave her alone, dude?" Marvel cut in.

Katniss glanced at Peeta before she could stop herself. He was glaring at Marvel, his jaw clenched tightly. She glanced away before he could look back at her. He ignored Marvel, taking a deep breath before speaking again.

"You're going to have to talk to me eventually. We have lab. Can we just—"

"Katniss already agreed to be my lab partner today."

Peeta looked between the two of them as if expecting her to correct him.

"Katniss…" he said, trailing off. She looked steadily at him for the first time in days. He was running his hands through already disheveled hair; he looked terrible. She shut off any feelings of sympathy and protectiveness before they could take root.

"Is he serious?" he finished, gesturing at Marvel.

"Yes," she finally replied, fixing him with a cold stare. "Now you can pick your own partner. No need to worry about me getting 'territorial.'"

His face twisted in pain. She didn't want to care, so she looked away again.

Their teacher walked in a minute later, and Peeta was forced to take an empty seat across the room.

They were given their instructions for the lab and split into pairs. She ignored Peeta's gaze burning into the back of her head. She tried to focus on the task at hand, but repressing most of her thoughts and emotions made it difficult to do anything else. Marvel stepped in and did most of the work for her, sending her sympathetic smiles. He didn't ask her any questions, just filled the silence with small talk and, for once, she was grateful for it because he didn't seem to expect a response.

Time passed quickly enough, and they were told they could clean up for the day. Marvel gathered up their equipment and took it to the back.

Katniss' stomach tightened with anxiety again when she saw Peeta making a beeline for her station. She straightened up and started packing her bag, ready to bolt at the first sound of the bell.

"Can we please just eat lunch together?" he asked when he reached their table. "I can drive somewhere, and we can talk if you want."

"I don't have anything to say to you," she said, closing her bag.

"Well, then _I _can talk, and you can hear me out," he persisted.

"You all right, Katniss?" Marvel said, sidling up next to her at the table.

Before Katniss could respond, Peeta fixed him with a fierce look.

"Why don't you stay out of what's _not_ your business?" Peeta gritted out.

"I'm not the one making her uncomfortable right now," Marvel returned calmly. Peeta clenched his jaw.

"Can you two stop talking about me like I'm not here?" Katniss snapped, running a hand through her hair, wreaking havoc on her braid. She squirmed anxiously, wanting nothing more than to disappear.

Peeta ignored her. "You only give a shit because you want to get into her pants," he hissed at Marvel.

"Oh, yeah, that must be it," Marvel said sarcastically. "It couldn't just be that I like her. Mr. High-and-Fucking-Mighty. What do you care, anyway? Are _you_ dating her?"

Peeta's face drained of color. Katniss' eyes darted between the two of them, mortified but unable to look away.

"Or are you just jerking her around?" Marvel continued.

"Shut the fuck up!" Peeta spat.

"Mr. Mellark!"

All three of them turned their eyes towards the front, their teacher gesturing Peeta to the front. His face burned red again in anger, and his breathing was harsh. He sent Katniss an unreadable look before hefting his backup up his shoulder and walking to the front.

Katniss didn't need to look around to know that all eyes were on them. Thankfully, the bell rang a moment later.

Katniss practically sprinted from the room. She heard footsteps racing behind her. Eventually, they caught up and a hand grasped at her arm. She threw it off.

"Katniss!"

She turned around in surprise. Marvel stood there, chest heaving. He held his hands up apologetically.

"Sorry, I just—" he started. "I didn't mean to get into it back there. I didn't want to embarrass you."

Katniss eyed him skeptically. This new "Aw, shucks" act wasn't impressing her.

"You don't have any problem embarrassing Peeta."

"No, I don't," Marvel laughed. "He was being a dick."

"I don't mean now," Katniss replied. "I mean last year—mocking him and making him feel like shit. Why was that okay?" She didn't know why her protective instincts were kicking in now, of all times—Peeta wasn't high on her list of favorite people at the moment, and he clearly didn't want or need her defending in the first place. But she needed some kind of explanation as to why Marvel could be so kind to her and so terrible to Peeta.

A look of guilt crossed his face.

"I dunno," he shoved his hands in his pockets. "I guess he just rubs me the wrong way. He's so full of himself."

"_Peeta_?" Katniss laughed, incredulous.

"Listen, I know I was an asshole," he said. "I don't…I shouldn't have said that stuff about his weight. I just—he and I used to be friends, you know? When we were little."

Katniss furrowed her eyebrows. This wasn't the direction she expected this to take. At all. She figured he would deflect or get defensive.

She struggled to remember Peeta before they grew close— who he spent time with and what he was like. But she felt like she had lived an entirely differently life before that—before her father died, her mother went away, and Peeta came into her life. She barely remembered that little girl, or Peeta before he was her best friend, or a young David before he was _Marvel_.

"Then he found you, and that's great, fine," he continued. "But then he acts like he's too good to talk to me, like we haven't known each other since kindergarten."

He shrugged it off, and Katniss felt a pang of guilt.

"Look, it doesn't matter. I just like you," he said with a small smile, and she felt her face heat up. "I just wanted a shot, and I was stupid about it. I figured…if he wasn't going to do anything…"

She looked at her feet. He may have been trying to reform his act, but she had no interest in discussing her relationship with Peeta with him.

"I see the way you look at him. Just don't let him lead you on forever." Her head shot up, and her anger flared.

"Maybe you should apologize," she shot back.

He looked flabbergasted for a moment before responding, "Katniss, I'm so—"

"Not to me. To Peeta."

He muttered under his breath. "Seriously?"

The warning bell rang, and she shrugged. "Do what you want, but it might be good for your soul or something."

"Thanks," he said dryly.

She started walking, and he followed alongside her until she turned a corner for her class.

"Later, Katniss," he said with a small wave. She eyed him carefully before responding.

"Bye, David."

* * *

She and Peeta only shared one more class before lunch. Instead of zoning out, she began this period hyperaware of every movement around the classroom. When he entered, her head snapped up to his. She nervously anticipated what tactic he'd try this time— whether he'd stare at her pleadingly, try passing her notes, or attempt to confront her again in front of everyone. Her stomach twisted in knots. But the moment he walked in, she deflated. His face was drawn, his eyes hooded as he made his way to a seat across the room. He slid into it silently and pulled out his notebook.

She must have been watching him for a while because when his gaze finally lifted, it went straight to her, as if he had felt her eyes on him. Their teacher was speaking, but for how long, Katniss had no idea. The sound was muffled in her ears. As soon as his eyes landed on her own, her breath caught; his expression was startlingly open, almost dejected. He broke the connection first, looking back down to his paper where his hand picked up the familiar, delicate motions of his sketching, a movement she had observed a thousand times.

She shook herself slightly, as if she had just broken the surface of water after holding her breath for too long.

When the bell rang, he left the classroom first without sparing her a glance. Her eyes followed him in a daze until the classroom emptied, and she found herself sitting alone. Feelings of anguish and humiliation roared up anew, as if she were living her rejection all over again. She had unwillingly revisited that moment in her head a million times since Saturday, his voice so guarded and skeptical that it never lost its edge, even in her memory— _What brought this on, Katniss?_

It was like getting nicked in the same place over and over again, the pain growing more acute and the wound unable to close.

She went through her next class in a guarded haze, an attitude that was becoming painfully familiar.

At lunch, she found herself sitting in a stairwell, unsure of how she got there. It was cold and empty, and every sound echoed against bare walls.

She forgot their heated words this morning, Peeta's growing frustration, her conversation with Marvel—all she could see was the back of his head leaving the classroom without stopping to wait for her or checking to see that she was following close behind. He had never done that before. Ever.

She knew she had pushed him away; she was hurt and confused, and all her instincts of privacy and self-preservation had reared up more fiercely than they ever had. She wasn't sure if it was an apology she was looking for or a time machine. Those vulnerable pieces of herself that she had offered up to him were now in his hands. And she just wanted him to look at her like he had before—easily and without pity, even without heat or affection, if that's what it took, because as much as that hurt, it was better than nothing. It was a kind of pain she could manage.

She should have known he wasn't going to keep trying forever. Now, she was just a friend he wasn't interested in romantically, and apparently, not a very good one by his estimation. He probably saw her as some cross to bear, a clingy girl he had to let down easy, and she'd have to deal with the very real possibility that she had lost more than the vague promise of a romantic future with him—she had lost her best friend. She was smart to keep her mouth shut for so long and stupid to listen to anyone who told her to do the opposite.

Her eyes burned, and she closed them tightly. Eventually, her anger would fade and, she hoped, her embarrassment as well. She could handle not being wanted. It's not like she had ever experienced that, anyway. But to be left behind, after all these years, too much trouble to be worth putting up with? It pricked at something raw inside her that had lived there since she was a little girl, orphaned, with her baby sister clinging to her skirt. She hadn't hardened quickly enough, at least not before Peeta could be let in, where he'd taken root too deeply for her to be able to stand. The loss of him would burn much longer than her anger or resentment.

She pulled her hair out of the braid and ran her fingers through the roots, pulling on it slightly, not caring how it looked. She grabbed her bologna sandwich from her bag and took two bites before discarding it; the sight of it was so disappointingly familiar. She leaned her head against the cold wall, humming to herself quietly until lunch ended.

In her last period, she slid into a seat next to Madge, bracing herself for what was to come.

Madge looked her over briefly before giving Katniss a small smile.

"Need a ride after school?" she asked. Katniss nodded gratefully. "You can come over if you want. I think I have enough material for a voodoo doll."

Katniss laughed almost inaudibly, but her chest lightened with the movement.

"Nah. I think I'll just go home and nap," Katniss said.

Madge nodded with a smile before passing her a piece of gum. At one point, Madge passed her a note; Katniss was reluctant to open it. Bracing herself, she unfolded it to find Madge's commentary on their teacher's bad dye job. Katniss smiled before responding that she was pretty sure Ms. Trinket had a wig collection. Madge had to suppress her snort, and the rest of the period passed mercifully quickly.

They walked together to the student lot, and Madge regaled her with gossip about how Glimmer had failed to find a Homecoming date since being dumped by Cato. Madge did enough talking for the two of them, and Katniss couldn't help but scan the lot as they wove through cars.

She didn't know what to expect or which sight would unhinge her the most—Peeta's parking spot empty or him waiting by his car for her. Maybe he'd even offer someone else a ride home.

But she spotted his car in its regular spot, and he was nowhere in sight.

Katniss didn't realize she had stopped walking until Madge turned around, studying her carefully for a moment.

"You ready to go?"

Katniss couldn't help looking around the parking lot one last time. She exhaled. "Yeah."

* * *

Madge had tried to get Katniss to come to her house a few more times, but she declined. She wanted to spend the rest of the afternoon staring at the underside of her comforter.

Katniss found the front door locked and the driveway empty, meaning Haymitch was working a shift; she knew Prim was at a friend's house. She dropped her bag in the living room, grabbed a glass of water and some crackers from the kitchen and trudged up the stairs.

She finished half the box of crackers and the entire glass of water while watching TV shows on her computer. She knew she should go back downstairs to retrieve her books and assignments, but her mind would undoubtedly drift after two sentences of dry text, and she couldn't allow that. Her thoughts had already gone far out of her control for one day, and she was lucky she didn't have a splitting headache. Too many places in her body already ached, and it not in a way that suggested accomplishment, like she'd just climbed a hill or swum laps for an hour. She felt weary and listless, and the day wasn't even over. She didn't know how she was going to get through the rest of the week.

Shutting off her computer speakers, she walked the few feet to her bed before collapsing on top of it. She was too tired to climb underneath the covers, so she grabbed the side of the comforter and folded herself in like a burrito. Her loose hair fanned out on the pillow beneath her, and she drifted off before she could reach for a hair tie to pull it back.

* * *

Katniss woke up to the sound of rustling outside her window. She figured it was the wind causing the trees branches to sweep against the exterior of the house, but when she closed her eyes to the early evening light, the noises started again, inconsistently so she couldn't drown them out. She pushed her hair out of her face and got up, reluctantly shuffling to the window.

The tree outside was definitely moving, but it wasn't due to the wind. A shock of blonde hair caught the light, drawing her attention to his stocky frame, which was currently clinging to a low branch with one arm. She threw the window open and stuck her head out.

"What are you doing?!" she shouted, an edge of hysteria to her voice.

Big blue eyes landed on her, wide in surprise, before Peeta lost his grip and fell to the ground with a thud.

She ran out of her room, down the stairs and through the back door. She was sliding on the grass in her sock-clad feet before she could think twice.

Peeta was still sitting on the ground when she got there. He didn't look like he was seriously injured, but as she approached him, he angrily smacked the ground with one hand before running his hand through his hair. She gaped at him for a moment before her mouth finally caught up with her brain.

"What in the hell...?" His ruddy face lifted, and his pained looked gave her pause. "Are you okay?" she asked, trying to sound annoyed so he wouldn't pick up on the concern in her voice.

"Fucking great," he grumbled. She scowled, her sympathy waning at his tone.

"What the fuck were you doing?" she asked.

He heaved a huge, frustrated breath before answering. "Trying to climb to your window."

Her face scrunched in confusion, and she had to stifle the small part of her that was amused at the idea of someone like Peeta trying to climb a tree. He had strength and sturdiness in spades— agility, not so much. He wouldn't look straight at her, still pouting from his spot on the ground.

"What, you haven't heard of a door?" she asked.

At this, he stared at her. His gaze was searching and dejected, and she was jolted back into the reality of the situation and what had brought them there. Suddenly, it didn't seem so funny.

"Would you have let me in?" he asked bluntly.

She sputtered for a moment before realizing _she_ shouldn't be the one feeling out of sorts in this situation. He was the one trying to practically break into her house. "No," she shot back.

He heaved another breath, and she was annoyed at the sound, the way he would often express his frustration in sounds or gestures instead of just coming out with it and saying what the hell was wrong. But then, these past few days were the first in a very long time where she hadn't wanted to hear Peeta talk at all.

He finally lifted off the ground with one arm, and she noticed he was clutching something in his other one. _Is that why he was trying to climb a tree one-armed?_ she wondered, irritated at his stupidity.

"Are you insane?" she asked.

He tilted his head back and shouted at the sky, "I just wanted to give you a goddamn cupcake!"

She stood there, shocked for a moment, before finally noticing the item he clutched in his hands— a smashed cupcake.

She took a step back, the sight of it unnerving her and making her feel small, offended at the idea that this small token could repair everything that had gone wrong between them. She wasn't some scorned girlfriend. He hadn't stood her up or forgotten an anniversary; he had broken her heart. Even if she couldn't find the words to tell him that, he had to know. He knew her better than anyone.

"I don't want your pity gifts or baked goods or..." She trailed off when her voice started to shake, unable to maintain the scorn she tried to force into her words.

The tension in his body seemed to deflate as he looked at her, and the raw emotion in his eyes was enough to have her staring nervously at her feet. If only she could get them to move, carry her back inside where she could curl up in a tight space.

"This isn't some 'baked good,'" he emphasized, almost desperately. "This is a cupcake. A vanilla cupcake with chocolate filling and chocolate icing with a bird done in red on top." He took a breath. "Because when you sing, the birds stop to listen."

Her head flew up. "What?" she asked in a small voice, confused by his words and the overwhelming sincerity in them. No matter how long she had known him, every time he spoke like that, it knocked the breath from her lungs.

"This is the cupcake I made you in second grade. Well, not the exact one obviously, but…" He held it up, studying the wrecked icing on top before looking up at her. "And that was the speech I memorized to say when I gave it to you. Except, I never did because when I caught your eye, you looked away, and I lost my nerve. So when Delly came bounding up, I pretended it was for her."

His words jumbled in her head in different patterns that made no sense to her, and she tried to pick some out so she could get some clue as to what he was saying.

"Second grade?" she asked.

"Yeah," he said, stepping forward and offering her the cupcake, before shoving his hands into his pockets and giving her a self-deprecating smile. She studied it while he spoke, grateful for something to do with her eyes and hands. "I noticed you on the first day of kindergarten. I don't think I've stopped looking at you since."

She clutched the cupcake tighter, glad it was already ruined because surely her hands would have crushed it to crumbs. Her heart clenched, and the glimmer of hope she failed to quell was almost as acute as the heartbreak had been.

"And when you first started singing in those assemblies," he continued, "I was done for."

She studied the now jagged outline of red icing against brown and could just faintly make out the silhouette of a bird. She didn't dare look at him.

"Are—are you cold?" His voice was low and so close to her ear that she startled to find him standing half a foot away. She couldn't remember the last time he'd been able to sneak up on her.

He gestured toward her socked feet, and she realized she _was_ cold, still clad in only her jeans and t-shirt in the cold, autumn air. When she looked up, his gaze was still roaming over her, lingering on her hair that hung in loose waves around her shoulders. It must have looked a mess, especially after she had slept on it, and she cringed to think what she looked like.

She mumbled something affirmative in answer to his question, and his eyes snapped up to hers. She turned to walk into the house, and he followed close behind.

Once they were both standing in the kitchen, they shuffled awkwardly on their feet and every time their eyes met, one of them would look away quickly. She was still processing his words. It seemed like something she had dreamed up, and she wasn't entirely sure any of this was real. And none of it explained his response to her on Saturday.

"You, um, you don't have to eat that," he said, breaking the silence and gesturing to the cupcake. He came closer and took it from her, setting it on the counter. "There's a blade of grass on it anyway."

Before she knew what she was doing, she stood on tip toe and reached up to touch his hair. The wry smile died on his face. "You have one in your hair, too," she said quietly, pulling it from where it was lodged in a soft wave. She looked up and found him gazing at her intensely. It would be hard for even her to misinterpret the look of heated longing on his face, and she wondered if this was new, or if he'd always responded to her this way and she'd just been too stupid and scared to notice. Or maybe he had been good at hiding it.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. She slowly lowered back to her feet. Confusion and hurt still lingered in her mind, and she was now more than eager to hear him explain himself. "I should have given you the cupcake. I should have said something. A million times, I should have said something…"

"Was that why you came to the funeral?" she asked suddenly, the memory invading her thoughts as she recalled their childhoods and everything that had brought them together.

"No. _God_, no. You think I was crashing funerals at 11-years-old to pick up chicks?" he asked with a grin.

"I don't know. You've always been ahead of the curve," she answered dryly. He chuckled and from the corner of her eye, she saw his hand twitch at his side, but he let it drop again.

"I was just worried about you. You were so sad and strong. You and your dad always looked so happy together and...I just didn't want to see you in pain," Peeta said, reaching out and pushing a lock of hair behind her ear as if he had been itching to do it.

"You didn't seem so concerned about that recently." The words burned like acid on her tongue, but she couldn't regret them, even when he flinched like she'd hit him and dropped his hand. It's not like he had made things easy for her recently.

"I know," he said in a low voice, dropping his gaze. "I'm so sorry. I didn't…I mean, I couldn't—" He trailed off with a sigh and ran a hand through his hair. It was odd to watch him struggle for words. "I was talking to Delly."

Katniss took a step back without thinking. She may have been reassured that the girl wasn't after Peeta, but it was Delly's scolding that made Katniss approach him with her feelings, and look how well _that_ had gone. Peeta smiled at her reassuringly, as if reading her thoughts.

"Not like that. Look, she hinted at some things and said that…well, basically that I had underestimated you." She watched him skeptically; she had to admit that it was somewhat satisfying to see him squirm. "She also said that I'm a dumbass."

She reluctantly smiled at this, and that seemed to bolster him. He rushed on.

"I'm so sorry. The truth is, I didn't underestimate you. I underestimated _me_. I always have. And I'm working on that, I swear," he said pleadingly. "It wasn't fair to take it out on you. I didn't trust you, and I should have. If for no other reason than you're a terrible actress," he added.

She scowled and suppressed the urge to smack him playfully. The air between them felt charged, and she didn't know where that kind of playful action would lead them. Her stomach roiled at the possibilities.

"Seriously," he said, and his eyes burned intensely into hers again. "I should have trusted you. You've never lied to me. I just…I don't know if I was even capable of believing that you…"

She wanted to break eye contact, but she recognized that, in this moment, he was at least as vulnerable as she was.

"I didn't mean to hurt you," he said, leaning down and resting his forehead against hers for a split second before pulling back. She had to stop herself from grabbing him to keep him in place. As it was, she had struggled to keep her eyes from slipping shut at the feel of him. She was glad they were open, though, when she saw the look in his eyes. "I just spent so long hating myself and loving you that I…"

She breathed in sharply, her eyes growing so wide that they burned. He trailed off, and the corner of his mouth twitched up with a shaky attempt at a smile, but it didn't stay up long on his pale, nervous face. He seemed to be waiting, terrified, for her reaction. She didn't even know what kind of expression she had on her face, just that it was frozen there while she tried to get her lungs to keep working.

"Um, you can kick me out again," he said, shifting nervously while she continued to blink at him. "I wouldn't blame you. I said horrible things, I know. But I didn't mean any of them. It's like there was this nasty voice in my head telling me it couldn't be true, and I just lashed out. I've replayed that moment in my head a million times, and you were _so_...and I can't _believe_ I fucked it up..."

"I can't believe you gave Delly my cupcake." She had blinked out of her daze and said the first thing that came to mind, interrupting his anxious ramblings.

He exhaled, laughing almost inaudibly, and the crease in his forehead smoothed out. But he was still looking at her in stunned disbelief like she he was waiting for her to bolt at any second.

"_That's_ what you're mad about?" he joked with a wry smile. "I know you take cupcakes seriously, but you got it eventually, Katniss. I mean, it took, like, nine years, and I fell on it and almost broke my arm in the process, but you got your cupcake. Maybe it was more trouble than it was worth…" He shifted from one foot to the other.

"I don't think so," she said softly, studying his face. "Did you mean it?"

"Did I mean...? Oh!" He flushed slightly, and her heart felt like it was going to beat out of her chest. He looked at her steadily as if it was costing him some effort to do so. "Yes, of course, I meant it. I know a lot has changed, and we've both dealt with so much bullshit...but that has been the one consistency of my life. Loving you."

They stared at each other across the small space that separated them, neither of them sure of when they had moved so close. She smiled slowly, and his entire body seemed to melt in response, a similar smile lighting up his face. Her hand reached up, cupping the side of his face, her thumb trailing over the dimple in his cheek. He watched her with a look of such awe that she would have been tempted to tease him for his dopey expression if he had been looking at anyone else but her. Instead, she lifted up on her toes again and kissed the spot where her thumb had been, her mouth so close to his own that she felt him tremble slightly. She pulled back.

"Me, too."

The words had barely left her mouth before his arms went around her, hands pressing warmly into her back as he pulled her body against his and leaned down to reach her mouth. Their lips bumped together clumsily, and when he tried to adjust their position, his nose knocked into hers.

"Sorry," he whispered, and before she could respond, his hands traveled up to her neck, his thumbs brushing the soft skin by her earlobes, before he tilted her head slightly and met her lips once more. They were softer this time and parted so that his lips wrapped around her top one. Every inch of her skin warmed in response, and she opened her mouth wider when she realized she had been holding her breath. She tried to suppress her gasp so he wouldn't notice, but, of course, he did.

"Sorry," he said again, right against her mouth. She sucked in as much air as she could, not wanting to part from him again anytime soon. "Just bear with me...I haven't really had any practice," he added, somewhat reluctantly.

"Good," she said quickly, before capturing his lips again. She would definitely remember to breathe through her nose this time.

She grasped his shoulders over the soft flannel of his shirt, not caring that her calves were starting to burn with the effort of stretching up to meet him. Their kisses started off as relatively tame, and he seemed tentative to push her too far and adamant to perfect what they were already doing, but soon their lips began lingering for longer periods of time, sliding wetly against each other. He drew the cupid's bow of her top lip into his mouth again and ran his tongue over it. She made an involuntary sound in the back of her throat that had him sliding his hands from his neck into her hair before he pulled back. She had to stop herself from stumbling.

She lowered back down for a moment, giving her legs a brief respite. She stared at him in confusion, wondering why he pulled away.

His hands were still buried in her long hair, but he looked flustered, licking his lips, sucking in breaths, eyes closing like he was trying to center himself.

"Peeta?"

His eyes opened again and locked on hers for a moment before flitting around the kitchen. She couldn't help but notice how _good_ he looked standing so close to her, lips wet and swollen because of her.

"Um, is Haymitch home?" he asked, breaking her from her thoughts. Her face screwed up at this.

"Haymitch?" She couldn't keep the frustration out of her voice. "You want to talk about Haymitch?"

"No, I just, I wanted to know if he was around or..." he trailed off awkwardly, and she picked up on his meaning.

"No. Night shift," she said breathlessly before closing the space between them again. But he stepped back again, removing his hands from her hair.

A look of hurt must have flashed across her face because he quickly grabbed her shoulders and smoothed his hands down her arms reassuringly.

"I was wondering, um," he started, and she couldn't help but let her doubts get the best of her. It had to be something bad if he was going to interrupt _this_. "Do you want to go on a date with me?"

She stared at him dubiously for a moment.

"A date?"

"Yeah, you know, a _date_," he said, attempting a brave smile, but she could pick up on his underlying nerves. "You asked me the other day, and if I wasn't being such an insecure asshole it would have been, like, the greatest moment of my life."

The corner of her mouth lifted in response and, in that moment, she could finally feel her worth to him. Not because he kept saying wonderful things, but because she was certain there was no other person in the world who could have followed his crazy lines of thought and tangents and the way he had to overcomplicate everything. At least, she had finally found a good way to shut him up.

"Sure, Peeta," she said indulgently.

"Really?" he asked, genuinely surprised. "You're gonna make it that easy? You don't want me to grovel or—"

"Wasn't that what you were doing when you were dangling from my tree?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

His answering chuckle seemed to stutter nervously in his throat as she moved close to him again.

"So, um, when do you want to go out? Or, what did you want to do?"

"I don't care," she answered, sliding her hands up his chest before leaning up to kiss him. Their mouths met hotly for a moment before he pulled away with a groan. She wanted to smack him.

"It's just, we should work it out, you know?" She gave him a skeptical look, but he forged on. "It'll be our first date, after all."

"What constitutes a date?" she asked. "You pick me up, we go out? That kind of thing?"

"Well, yeah," he answered uncertainly.

"Peeta," she said lowly, hands returning to his chest. "If that's the case, then we've been on, like, 10,000 dates."

"I just," he started, swallowing as her hands roamed softly. "I want to do this right."

"Okay," she said shortly before grasping the fabric of his shirt in her hands and pulling him forward. Their mouths crashed together harshly, but she wouldn't let him murmur out any more apologies. She simply shifted so their lips could pick up the same heated rhythm from before. Her hands climbed until they were around his neck, and she slid her fingers into his hair. She sighed heavily at the feel, something she'd dreamt about for _so_ long, that she couldn't help but run her hands through it and grasp the strands until he groaned in response, pulling tightly at her hips.

Within seconds, he had walked her backwards and pressed her against the nearest surface, which happened to be the refrigerator. She heard something clatter on the tile floor and distantly wondered if it was one of the magnets.

When he nipped at her lower lip, she gasped slightly, and he took the opportunity to hesitantly slip his tongue between her parted lips. Her jaw was slack for a second, eager to see what he would do, but when he started to retract his tongue, she slid her own against it, unwilling to break the connection. They moaned in unison, and he licked at the underside of her bottom lip before drawing it into his mouth.

They both grew braver in their explorations, trying different things, each of them desperate to draw sounds from the other. When he sucked on her tongue, she whimpered and tugged on his hair again. Every time she did this, his hips thrust gently against hers, almost unconsciously, as if her hands caused an electrical current to run through his body and jolt against her own. She could feel his hard length pressed against her pelvis, and she was glad she had imagined this so many times with him; she would have been terrified, otherwise.

She was beginning to think she would never get tired of exploring the inside of his mouth when he pulled away and started trailing kisses down her jaw to her neck. Some of them tickled and felt warm against her skin, but, frequently, the kisses would land on a spot that made her shiver, and he seemed to pick up on it. When he got to the place where her neck met her shoulder, she inhaled sharply, and he sucked lightly on her skin in response. She was breathing like she had just run a mile. When he nipped at the spot with his teeth, she pushed him backwards. He stumbled backward a bit, his wide eyes startled.

Before he could question her, she grabbed his hand and pulled him behind her, out of the room and up the stairs, not stopping until they were both inside her bedroom and she had shut the door behind them.

She turned to find him standing nervously in the middle of her room, still breathing heavily. She hesitated. Her recent confidence seemed to diminish in the quiet of the room. She pulled off her damp socks and threw them into the hamper for something to do. She fiddled with her hands as he continued to eye her warily.

"I, um…I don't want you to feel pressured to do anything…" Peeta gestured vaguely with his hand.

"I want to do everything," Katniss replied honestly. He swallowed heavily at this.

She stepped forward until she was standing in front of him and, pushing through her nerves with sheer force of will, she reached up and began undoing the first button on his shirt.

"I…I'm on the pill," Katniss said quietly and tried not to wince at her clumsy words. "Haymitch dropped me at the clinic one day and, well, I don't really wanna tell that story, but..." Peeta laughed, and she smiled slightly as she began working on the second button. "Anyway, I'm…all clear, and you know, I've never—"

"Me neither," he assured her, reaching up to slide his fingers through her hair. Her hands slipped on the third button. "What, um," Peeta started, staring fixedly at her hair, "what did 'me, too' mean?"

She looked up at him in confusion for a second before recalling her words in the kitchen. Her breath whooshed out of her.

"I…well, I—you said that you…ya know," she fumbled. "And I do, too."

"You love me?" he asked quietly. His face was so hopeful when she looked up at him, that she didn't hesitate to respond.

"I love you," she said.

He leaned his forehead against her temple.

"I love you, too," he said against her hair, before moving to nuzzle behind her ear with his nose.

"Stop distracting me," she scolded gently, a wide grin stretching almost painfully across her face. He laughed, and the breath he exhaled tickled her neck. He pulled back, and they smiled at each other goofily while she worked on the rest of his buttons. He kicked his shoes off.

"This is my favorite shirt," she told him.

"I know," he said with a smirk, and she felt her body responding to his newfound confidence. "You told me."

He kept watching her while she unfastened the final button and began to push it off his broad shoulders. Katniss met his eyes when she reached behind him to help pull it down; they were hooded and glinting with mischief. They looked the way they had that day in her kitchen when he lifted her up, but amplified by a hundred. Her stomach clenched in anticipation, sending jolts of pleasure through her body and between her legs.

She only briefly noted the way the sleeves of his undershirt clung to his biceps before she grabbed the hem and started pulling it up. He lifted his arms, finally breaking eye contact reluctantly when he had to help her pull it over his head.

She tossed the shirt carelessly to the floor. She could feel his eyes on her again, but she was distracted by the wide expanse of smooth skin on display. Her hand lifted to trace the freckles on his shoulder before pressing her palm flat and gliding it down his chest to rest on his pectoral. His heart was thumping rapidly beneath it.

Her eyes finally lifted to meet his, as if coming out of a trance, and she saw that they were filled with apprehension. It only took her a moment to figure out why.

She slid her palm down to his flat stomach and felt the muscles contract beneath her touch.

"I've wanted this…for a long time," Katniss said quietly, staring at her tanned hand against his pale skin. She drew her fingers through the fine hairs near his belly button, and he sucked in a breath.

"Really?" Peeta breathed.

"Why do you think I always tried get you to take your shirt off at the pool?" she asked with a sly smile, glancing up at him only briefly, still inexplicably shy despite her certainty of where this would lead.

"That's kind of amazing," he said in an awed voice.

He was looking at her like she was some kind of living dream, and she would never get used to that. She didn't want to.

"Not really," she said shortly, furrowing her eyebrows. "Made sense to me."

She pushed him toward the bed, and he grabbed her hips, pulling her with him as he walked backward. When the back of his knees hit the bed, he sunk down on it, his hands still grasping tightly to her hips. His thumbs were brushing back and forth across her hipbones and she could feel the heat of them through her jeans.

Katniss' nerves returned when he looked up at her expectantly. Should she sit next to him on the bed? That would be an awkward angle for kissing. Maybe she could—

Peeta interrupted her thoughts by grabbing her hips suddenly and pulling her toward him, wrapping one arm under her ass and lifting her slightly so she had no choice but to straddle his lap.

He squeezed her waist before bringing his hands to her neck, dragging her down for another deep kiss. They kissed for so long, hands wandering and mussing up clothing and hair, that she didn't realize until he broke away for breath that she had been rocking gently above him. The brief pause in their activities made her that much more aware of the hard length that was cradled between her legs.

His hands began playing at the hem of her shirt and her entire body stiffened in response. Peeta seemed to pick up on it because he searched her face intently. She bit her lip in response and couldn't quite meet his eyes. He dropped the shirt and began smoothing his hands over her back before leaning in to bury his face in her neck, kissing and licking the skin. Goosebumps covered her skin, and she shuddered.

She was so lost in the sensations of his lips and tongue and teeth against her skin that she didn't notice that he was slowly inching her shirt up until the cold air hit her back. She stiffened again, and he pulled back.

"Is this okay?" he whispered.

Katniss plastered a brave smile on her face. "Yeah. I mean, I took yours off…" She shrugged in an attempt to be casual, but the serious look didn't leave his face.

He leaned in to give her a soft kiss, but before she could deepen it, he pulled back, inching her shirt up once again and staring at the strip of stomach that was being exposed. She tried not to squirm in response. Her breathing picked up, but this time, it wasn't from excitement.

"You have the most beautiful skin I've ever seen," Peeta said, and her eyes widened in response. He was too busy staring at her skin and lightly running his fingers across it to notice. "I never get sick of looking at you."

With this, he lifted her off of his lap and laid her gently back against her pillows. She squeaked softly in response, but he didn't pause in his fluid movements, getting on his knees and hovering over her, his hands returning to her stomach. He looked up at her, as if testing her reaction, and the longer she looked into the striking blue of his eyes, the safer she felt. Her muscles relaxed, and she seemed to sink into the mattress further.

"The one thing that always frustrated me about painting you was that I could never get your skin just right," he said before ducking his head and pressing a soft kiss to her belly. She shivered. "I would mix colors for hours, and it would never be good enough."

He looked up at her nervously. "Is that creepy?" he asked. She shook her head quickly, but she could feel the flush working up from her neck to her face. One corner of his mouth turned up in a crooked smile. Then he pulled her shirt up, and she was lifting her arms up in compliance without a second thought.

He had just barely gotten it off when his eyes widened, and he buried his neck in her face with a groan. She had a moment of panic, uncertain of what had caused his reaction. Maybe she wasn't what he had imagined, or…

"Are you trying to kill me?" he asked in a strained voice.

She turned her head to give him a perplexed look, and he lifted up again, fingering her soft orange bra strap.

"No?" she said with a nervous chuckle. She had forgotten she was even wearing that particular bra, but then, it was her favorite for a reason.

"No?" he asked, his voice low with a hint of challenge that made her heart stutter in anticipation. His pupils were large in the low setting light filtering into her room, and it made the blue appear much darker.

He leaned into her neck again, dragging his mouth up to her ear. Her hands found purchase on the wide expanse of his back; she could feel the muscles straining, and she gulped in breaths.

"I think you are," he said lowly, nipping at her earlobe. Her eyes rolled back in response. "I think you were that night, too. You knew exactly what you were doing."

One large hand pressed to her collarbone, before sliding slowly down her chest, pausing between her breasts. She could feel the slight callus on his index finger that he got from sketching.

Before she could pass out from the teasing, the torturous anticipation, she steeled herself and took his hand within her own, sliding it over her bra cup so he could grasp her in his palm. His wide eyes flew up to hers, but before he could get out a word, she used her other hand to pull his head down to hers for a crushing kiss. Almost involuntarily, his hand squeezed her breast in response. She felt his movements stop for an instant, as if he was worried he had gone too far, but her answering whimper seemed to bolster him because he squeezed again, circling the hardened nipple through the fabric of her bra.

Somewhere in the middle of their hot kisses and the feeling of his hand teasing her, she had opened her legs to him; he moved between them like he belonged there, hips nestled between her thighs. They were both panting heavily, mouths only breaking apart when one of them would go searching for new skin to taste and redden.

She was sucking at the hollow of his neck when she felt his hand drag her bra strap down her shoulder. He moved his head to kiss the soft skin that was revealed, while his left hand snuck into her bra cup, his thumb running over her nipple. Her head fell back with a strangled moan, and then suddenly, she was pushing at his chest (so broad and solid that she had to force herself not to get distracted).

Peeta looked at her looked at her apprehensively, as if she was about to slap him. Instead, she lifted her upper body, her hands going behind her back to search frantically for the hooks on her bra. He watched her, frozen, mouth agape, and she wondered if he was worried that if he even twitched, it would snap her out of it and halt her movements.

Her shaking fingers finally unclasped her bra, and she brought her arms back around to her front. She paused and let the material rest where it was, taking a bracing breath. She glanced up to find his eyes on her face. He lifted his hand and rested it over her beating heart. She covered his hand with her own for a moment, and they smiled at each other. She let her hand fall away and reached her arms out. Peeta dragged the bra down and tossed it to the side of the bed.

She screwed her eyes shut tightly and licked her lips. The silence wasn't helping. She should have put some music on or something, but what music? Was she just going to make him sit there, shirtless, while she frantically searched through her iTunes? Not that having him shirtless in her room was ever a bad idea.

She wanted to open her eyes to see what he was doing, but she couldn't bring herself to do it. The moment seemed to drag on forever, and she was ready to dive under the blankets when suddenly, she felt him sink down on top of her, her hardened nipples pressing against his chest in a way that made her tremble. He smoothed the hair away from her face and kissed her temple before leaning in to whisper in her ear.

"You're so fucking pretty." Katniss wanted to scoff, but the sound of the curse coming from his strained voice made her throat go dry.

As if Peeta sensed her skepticism, he nipped at her ear in chastisement.

From there, he moved to her chest, pressing kisses up and down her sternum. He caught her watching him nervously and sent her a devastating smile.

"It's true," he said. She had to search her memory for what he was referring to, even though he hadn't said it more than 30 seconds ago. His mouth had some sort of magical ability to put her in a trance as soon as it touched any part of her body. Maybe it was a good thing they hadn't done this sooner. She'd have flunked out of high school.

"You have starred in every fantasy I've had since I was twelve."

Katniss' mouth dropped open and some sort of involuntary squeak made its way out, but she didn't have time to be embarrassed before his head dipped to take a nipple into his mouth.

Her hands flew to his hair. He alternated between licking and sucking, paying attention to the noises she made in response. When he bit the hardened tip lightly, she jumped. He lifted his eyes to smile at her devilishly before moving to the other breast. He sucked hard, on and around her nipple, to the soft underside of her breast, and she wondered if it was possible to get a hickey there.

Her hands were roaming through his hair relentlessly like they'd be happy to be buried there forever, but when she studied the muscles moving in his back, she had to rethink that.

Katniss pushed on his chest until he fell on his back beside her. Peeta looked up at her with wide eyes and pink cheeks and disheveled hair, and she didn't think this could get any better— until she realized he wasn't even naked yet. She went to straddle him again, before realizing it was getting increasingly uncomfortable in her stiff jeans; she was going to take them off eventually, anyway.

So she dropped her feet to the floor, stood by the bed, and, before he could offer a word of protest, she began unbuttoning her jeans. His mouth snapped shut. She pushed them to her feet and surreptitiously snuck a peek at her underwear. She hadn't remembered what pair she had on, but they were blue boy shorts with white polka dots. They didn't match her bra, but, regardless, that would have been a first for her.

She glanced up at him. He didn't look like he minded.

Katniss climbed back onto the bed beside him, sitting on her knees. She glanced down at his own jeans and saw his very obvious erection straining against the fly.

"Do you want to take yours off?" she asked.

"Huh?" His eyes snapped up from where they had been roaming over her body, particularly her naked chest. "Oh, um, yeah."

Before he could make a move, her hands were at his fly. She unbuttoned it with ease as he had sucked in deeply at her touch and seemed to be holding that breath. She got his zipper down and pulled his pants off his hips quickly before he passed out from lack of oxygen. He quickly toed his socks off, too.

_This isn't so different_, she thought when she'd gotten them all the way off and thrown them to the floor. _It's just Peeta in shorts_. She studied the fair hair on his legs and drew her gaze up. She swallowed at seeing his erection straining against green plaid boxers. It's not that she hadn't noticed it before. But now it was _there_, under one very thin piece of fabric. She heard him groan, and her eyes flew up in question.

"You...you did this thing with your mouth," Peeta said quietly, voice tight.

Her lips were wet, and she realized she had been licking them. She smirked at him smugly. She was sitting half-naked in a room with the boy she loved, and she, admittedly, had to constantly suppress the urge to pull the sheet up or grab a shirt, but the way he was looking at her helped. A lot.

She was eager to feel his skin under her lips again, so she straddled his legs and leaned down to kiss his stomach. It was so warm and soft. He sucked in again and held it, and she wondered if it wasn't just an involuntary response; looking up to see his face screwed up anxiously confirmed this fear.

Katniss tickled his side, and his answering laugh made him release the breath he'd been holding. She kissed his stomach again before he could suck it back in. On a whim, she moved to lick along the line of his boxer shorts. Peeta whimpered quietly, and she looked up to find him biting his bottom lip.

"I like your freckles," she said.

Peeta gulped. "I like them right now, too."

Katniss laughed, and he reached down to tuck her long hair behind her ear before caressing her cheek.

"God," he said, staring her with awe again. Before she could think of something self-deprecating to say, he pulled her back up by her shoulders. She rested fully against his body, and she'd never been so warm in her life.

He kissed her deeply, but so slowly that she thought she was going to melt into his mouth with every decadent flick of his tongue. His hands were all over her back as if he couldn't touch enough of her skin. He flipped her on to her back before she could protest, settling between her legs again. They tried to continue their kiss, but they were both breathing so heavily, their hips moving restlessly against each other, that they had to break apart.

Her mouth went straight to his neck, biting at the skin with no thought to the marks she might leave behind, only the noises he was making, which were a variation of soft grunts and tortured groans. Peeta was holding himself up on one arm while his other hand was alternatively pinching at her nipple and then soothing it, all of which made Katniss moan throatily. When she sucked his earlobe into her mouth, he groaned loudly, and his hand flew to her hip, urging her hips even closer to his in their rocking motions.

Katniss threw her head back when he licked at the hollow of her throat. There was no space between them, but she still ran her hands down his back and under his boxers to grasp his ass and urge him closer. At this, Peeta let out a noise that was close to a growl and snatched her hand away. He then pulled her other hand from his shoulder and pinned them both down above her head, her arms stretched above her.

The movement shocked the breath out of her, but if anything, the commanding look in his eyes, practically daring her to move her arms, made her want him even more. Need coiled in her belly and she couldn't wait much longer to have him inside her.

His thinking must have been along similar lines, because he hooked his fingers in the side of her underwear. She swallowed; she knew she was embarrassingly wet, and her apprehension returned.

Peeta looked up to find her waiting patiently, albeit nervously, her hands still resting obediently above her head where he had left them. He dragged her underwear down her legs, and she lifted up in compliance. They were added to the pile of clothes on the floor.

It was his turn to lick his lips. He eyed her intently, and she tried hard not to squirm under his scrutiny. She wanted to make a joke or snap her fingers in front of his face. His comment about her being the star of all her fantasies came to mind, but this time, instead of being hugely turned on and flattered, she was scared shitless. What if she wasn't living up to the image in his head?

Peeta closed his eyes and took a deep shuddering breath. She eyed him uneasily.

"Are you okay?"

"I need a second," he said, lowering his body on top of hers, but this time careful not to let their lower halves touch. "You're incredible. More incredible than I ever imagined." He kissed up and down her neck insistently, as if he was drawing energy from it.

Then he shifted to lie on his side next to her. She tried to move her arms to cover herself or move closer to him, but he pinned them back with a strong hand.

"Keep them there," Peeta said in a deep voice that brokered no argument. She felt herself grow wetter, if that were possible.

As if he had read her thoughts, he let the hand grasping her wrists travel down one of her arms to her chest, over her stomach and down her pelvis to cup her sex. She sucked in a breath. His eyes lifted to hers, but there was no uncertainty in them, only heat. He moved his hand to dip two fingers inside her, dragging them through her folds without hesitation. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and his did the same. He groaned louder than she did.

"Fuuuuuck," he whispered. "You're so wet."

Katniss stiffened, and his fingers halted in response.

"No, that's sexy," he assured her. "It's really, really sexy. Jesus, Katniss, I love you."

"I love you, too," she said, the last word transforming into a moan as he moved his fingers again.

They traveled up and down as if searching for something, and she watched him study her face. Well, she tried to, at least, when her eyes weren't slipping shut in ecstasy.

"There!" she gasped when his fingers reached the hood of her clit. She was amazed she could even speak at this point, let alone have the guts to instruct him, but everything she did seemed to turn him on, and it made her feel incredibly powerful. Her hands scratched against the headboard behind her, and she wished she had one of those wrought-iron ones so she had something to hold onto.

He pressed down against her clit, and she mewled. He started to rub in small circles, and she moved her hips against his hand; he took this as a sign to go faster.

She wasn't sure how long she was moving restlessly against his deft fingers. When he replaced his fingers with his thumb against her nub, she barely registered it except to find she liked the added pressure. But then he moved his already wet fingers to her entrance and slid them in gently. She turned her head frantically to find him watching her. There was a question in his look, and she answered it by leaning closer to him and capturing his bottom lip between her teeth.

They kissed fiercely; she was so distracted by all the different sensations— all combining to cause warmth to spread through her limbs and converge in a fire at her center— that she didn't notice that his fingers were almost completely inside her. She began riding them, uncaring what she looked or sounded like, but then he pulled them out. She pulled back mid-kiss and scowled at him. Her familiar reaction made him smile, but he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked on them for a moment, his eyes never leaving hers. Katniss' mouth dropped open.

Before she could lodge any protest, he had moved on top of her, sliding down her body so his face was at her center. Panic and uncertainty overtook her, and she finally moved her arms from above her head. But she was too slow. By the time her stiff arms reached his head to try to pull him away, he had licked between her folds from entrance to clit, and her hands clenched instinctively in his hair, holding his head there instead of pushing him away.

He licked at her swollen nub, and she panted, practically pulling out his hair. One hand reached down to claw at his back. She didn't know if he wanted her hands there or was angry that she'd moved them, but he never lifted his head to tell her otherwise. Instead, he sucked his clit between his lips, and she started moaning incoherently. The more he sucked—only pausing once in a while to lick her gently—the higher-pitched her moans became until they converged into a desperate shout of his name. She shuddered around his mouth, coming harder than she ever had before. He groaned in response, pulling back slightly but still licking her slowly until her body relaxed completely.

He crawled back up to her side and nuzzled her ear.

"Fuuuuuck," she said, amazed she hadn't lost her voice.

"Uh huh," he responded, and she could hear the smile in his voice even though she hadn't opened her eyes yet.

When she did, she found him looking at her with a ridiculously proud grin on his face.

"You sure you didn't learn that somewhere?" she asked, only half-serious.

"Only gross boy places, I promise," he said, scratching behind his ear sheepishly.

The stupid grin she couldn't wipe from her face was starting to hurt, but it didn't go away until she glanced down to see his erection.

"Oh!" she said, before she could stop herself. He looked at her in question. "I should, you know…I should have—" She looked meaningfully at his lap.

"No. No, that was for you. 'Cause I'm probably only gonna last about five seconds when we…" He gestured nervously. "You know, if we…"

Katniss laughed and reached up to kiss him. "Good to know."

This seemed to bolster him because he licked into her mouth, giving her a toe-curling kiss before pulling back. "I'm surprised I didn't already go off. That was the hottest thing I've ever fucking seen."

She tried not to preen, but it was getting increasingly difficult around him. He was good for her ego. She smacked him on the ass playfully. "You know, you have a dirty mouth."

"You have no idea," he said, stretching on top of her again, kissing every bit of skin he could reach.

He let his hips fall against hers this time; she was still ridiculously sensitive, so she whined a little, which made him pull his hips back. She took the opportunity to start pushing his boxers down over his ass. He bit his lip nervously but made no attempt to stop her. Once they were down to his knees, he pulled them off the rest of the way, kicking them off his feet.

She didn't have a wide knowledge of penises beyond softcore porn and some cursory Wikipedia searches, but he looked fairly impressive, almost enough to worry her about the pain. Also, it was Peeta. Unless it was two inches hard or had some weird curve to it, she couldn't see herself ever minding. Ever.

Before he could lower himself too much, she reached between them and grasped his cock in her hand. At this, he lowered anyway, groaning as if in agony. She was scared to even move her hand for fear of doing something wrong, but she knew the general motion guys used to get themselves off, so she tried to mimic that, curling her fingers around him and moving them slowly from base to tip, dragging her thumb along the underside, surprised at how soft the skin felt. He cursed softly in her ear. He was leaking slightly from the tip, but when she tried to rub it with her thumb, he reached down to remove her hand.

Her eyes lowered sheepishly, worried she had done something wrong, but he just lifted her chin to look at her.

"That was…too good," he panted. "Can we…I want to be inside you." He said it with a questioning lilt to his voice. She nodded quickly in response and opened her legs wider to let him settle between them.

Peeta was propped up on both arms, but she could see they were shaking slightly, whether with strain or nerves, she couldn't tell. She twisted her head to kiss his forearm quickly. He lifted that arm and moved it between them to grasp his cock. He dragged it between her folds, fumbling for a moment to find her entrance. It soothed her that he seemed as nervous as she was, but more than that, it was his face above hers— his face with the pink cheeks and white scar and furrowed blonde eyebrows—the made her feel so safe. In that moment, it felt like her love for him would choke her, and she couldn't wait to have him inside her so she could express it fully, let him feel it so deeply that it sunk into his skin.

Peeta pushed inside an inch, and she clenched in response. He tried to smile at her, but it came out as more of a grimace. _Relax your muscles, relax your muscles_, she chanted to herself, knowing the pain wouldn't be as acute if she could manage to do that. It was difficult; it seemed like a natural response to his entering her body, but she wanted him there too badly to stop.

He continued to inch in slowly, pulling back every few seconds to use her natural lubricant to aid the motion. Finally, when he was halfway there, she groaned at him to _just do_ _it_, so he did. He thrust into her the rest of the way, and she cried out sharply while he failed to suppress a groan.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, dropping kisses all over her face and trying to remain still for her sake.

She throbbed and tried to adjust to the feeling of him inside her, but she had to remind herself to breathe and relax. His soft voice in her ear helped, whispering sweet things she barely registered. This made her think other things might help even more, so she opened her mouth for a deep kiss and moved his hand to her breast.

He was practically panting into her mouth and pleasure was spiking in her body again. She braced her feet against the mattress and pushed up slightly. Peeta broke away from her mouth with a loud groan and squeezed her breast roughly. She breathed deeply and he pulled out a fraction, before pushing back in. When he pulled out, it relieved some of the pressure, and when he pushed back in, the pain had seemed to lessen. She urged him to keep doing this, and she found that the fullness of him inside her gave her some sort of pleasurable relief, and when he grabbed her hip and lifted her up as he thrust in, he hit a spot that made her whine.

The sounds ripped from their mouths mingled with the squeaking of the bed, and Katniss thought she could do this with him _forever_.

Soon enough, she could feel his entire body shaking, and she knew he was close. She didn't think she'd be able to come again before he finished, but the feeling of his rough thrusts and the taste of the sweaty skin of his neck was enough to bring her very close. But she thought of the way he had buried his face between her legs, torturing her relentlessly with his mouth, and she wanted him to feel that.

"You feel so good," she moaned in his ear. He grunted and began thrusting even quicker, grabbing her thigh and pushing it out, flat against the mattress. The new angle made her call out. "I've thought about you like this, too," she continued, voice straining. "So many times."

At her words, he cried out and thrust into her two, three more times before releasing into her, his chest heaving, before his body dropped heavily on top of hers. She sighed in contentment. After a minute, he seemed to realize he was practically crushing her and rolled over to her side.

"You did it. You killed me," he said, still struggling for breath. She giggled, and though it was a rare sound for her, it seemed appropriate.

He turned to her and stretched out his arm. She immediately curled into his side, using his shoulder as a pillow. His hand moved soothingly through her hair.

"Are you okay? Was that—" She tried to answer, but he kept talking, "I mean, I know it hurt you…"

"Peeta," she said, covering his mouth with her fingers. "I'm fine. That was good. Really, really good."

He nipped at her fingers playfully but looked unconvinced. "But you didn't…you know, finish."

"No, but I did before. And that was…a good one. That'll last me a while," she said, smiling roguishly.

"It won't have to," he said, and though he wiggled his eyebrows playfully, her stomach still clenched in anticipation.

They laid together peacefully, staring at the ceiling while he caressed her hair, and she ran her hands up and down his chest; she'd never get used to the freedom of finally being able to touch him whenever, and _wherever_, she wanted.

Peeta turned to her to speak; she wasn't surprised. It was a miracle he had been silent this long.

"This was a really great first date," he said.

Laughter bubbled up in her throat, and soon she was laughing so freely that her whole body shook. Peeta seemed mesmerized by the movement at first, his eyes glued to her breasts, before he started to worry for her well-being. Tears were leaking from her eyes. He scrambled out of bed, and she was clutching her stomach; it ached from laughter. When she finally looked up and wiped the tears from her eyes, she found Peeta standing in the doorway with a glass of water. And he was fully dressed.

Her entire face contorted in confusion. He walked over and handed her the glass.

"If you think I'm not secretly terrified of Haymitch," he said, pulling his shirt over his head, "you're mistaken. Didn't want to risk running into him."

She rolled her eyes but didn't say anything when he started to undress again. It was just as enjoyable watching him get naked a second time. Katniss stood up to pull the covers back so they could climb in, and he couldn't keep his eyes off of her. She tugged him playfully into bed after her. He placed a kiss over her beating heart when they had settled in.

"You're so beautiful," he whispered. She rolled her eyes, but felt her cheeks warm in response.

"You're full of it," she responded, but before he could protest, she spoke again. "_You're_ beautiful."

He tried to shrug it off playfully, but she could see the dimples forming in his cheeks. "I'm glad you think so," he said, pulling her tightly against his body.

"I've always thought so," she replied.

He nuzzled his nose against hers. She knew it would take a while for these things to sink in, for him to truly believe them, but now that she could say them freely, without worrying about revealing too much, she was going to do it until he had no choice but to take them in.

"You feel okay?" Peeta asked, kissing her skin like he was afraid she'd disappear if he broke the connection.

Katniss murmured a soft affirmation. "This has been a weird day," she said, recalling the start of it and wondering how only a few hours had passed when really, it felt like years.

"No shit. You know Marvel apologized to me today?"

"What?" she asked, lifting up on one arm. She had told David to do it, and she meant it, but she never expected he would take her seriously.

"Yeah. He didn't mean it, but it was nice, I guess," Peeta shrugged, smiling wryly. "He came up to me before detention."

"W-what?" she asked, her voice stuttering with a laugh. She tried to control it when he glared at her, but she couldn't help it— the idea of Peeta in detention was ridiculous.

"Yeah, well. Mr. Hallman sent me there for 'being disruptive' and 'using offensive language,'" he said, making exaggerated air quotes.

"Well, you were pretty offensive," she replied.

Peeta eyed her carefully like he was trying to gauge whether she was joking or not. She lifted her mouth in a half-smile. His behavior _had_ been mortifying, but she figured she had punished him enough. Neither of them ever relished being the center of attention, positive or negative.

"Anyway," he said, smacking her ass lightly so that she squeaked. "He said he was, 'Sorry or whatever for, like, being a dick.'" Peeta's impression was terrible, but he seemed more intent on making Marvel sound like a moron than aiming for accuracy.

"I think I preferred the air quotes," she quipped, but he merely raised an eyebrow at her and ignored it.

"Know what might have sparked that turnaround?" he questioned seriously.

"I dunno," she said coyly, running her fingers down his chest, making him jump. "I think it's _you_ he's been after this whole time."

"Very funny." His voice was low, and she found she enjoyed the sound of it far too much. But jealousy was more appealing in theory than in practice, she was quickly coming to find.

"I told him it wasn't okay for him to be nice to me and a dick to you," she confessed. "That you didn't deserve it, and, no matter what his reasons, he should apologize. I didn't think he'd take me seriously."

"He wants to get in your pants," Peeta said for the second time that day. She rolled her eyes.

"Well, there isn't any more room in this bed," she replied, crossing her arms over his chest and propping her chin there to look up at him.

He smiled like a guilty little boy, red appearing in his cheeks. She narrowed her eyes at him.

"Thank you, Katniss," he said sincerely. "For...thank you."

She just kissed his skin in response.

Peeta ran his fingers over her back and studied her face like he was on stolen time. Katniss realized this was going to take more than a day (and more than good sex) to smooth over. But she was more than willing to put the work in.

"Don't you think we have something to discuss?" she asked.

His face fell, and he looked like he was bracing himself for a chastisement or, worse, for her to call the whole thing off. She only felt mildly guilty for teasing him.

"These 'fantasies' you talked about?" His ears turned red. "They wouldn't happen to be inspired by any of those 'gross boy things' you mentioned, would they?"

"Well," he drawled, choosing his words carefully. "One of those _things _is infinitely better and sexier than the other." She willed herself not to blush at another one of his compliments. "But I'd be lying if I said the ideas didn't overlap. My mind is a complicated labyrinth, after all."

"Uh huh," she snorted. "You're a perv."

"Oh, so you're not interested in hearing about these fantasies?" She bit the side of her lip, and he grinned in triumph. "Because I was thinking we could make, like, a day of the week calendar and just assign specific _ideas_—"

She managed to forcefully pull the pillow out from under his head before smacking him with it. The effect his words had on her body was completely immaterial.

* * *

Katniss woke up several hours later. The room was dark, and it took her a second to register everything, but the first thing she noted was the soreness between her legs, followed by the feeling of the warm sheet against her naked body. A smile spread across her face, but when she reached for him, he wasn't there. Noises came floating up from downstairs, like dishes clanking. She had a strong urge to wear his clothes, but she found only hers carelessly strewn across the floor. Instead of putting back on her jeans, she threw them in the laundry and got a pair of cotton shorts from her drawer before stepping into them and pulling her shirt back over her head. She thudded down the stairs happily, stopping short when she rounded the corner to find Peeta (fully dressed, thank god) checking something in the oven, and Prim sitting at the kitchen table doing homework. They were laughing about something, and Katniss forced a neutral expression to her face.

Peeta and Prim both looked up at her when she entered, but she merely walked past them both to grab a soda from the fridge. She turned to find them both watching her.

"What's up?" she asked casually. Prim snorted and rolled her eyes before going back to her homework. Peeta just beamed at her.

She walked over to lean against the counter next to him.

"Knock it off," she said lowly, through clenched teeth.

"What?"

"Get that look off your face," she warned, eyeing Prim over his shoulder, who looked to be studying her homework way too intently.

"What look?" Peeta asked innocently before the grin returned to his face.

"The I've-seen-you-naked look. Prim's gonna think something's up," she whispered harshly.

"I think the ship has sailed on that one," he staged-whispered so loudly that Prim giggled. Katniss scowled at him.

"What did he tell you?" She narrowed her eyes at Prim.

"He didn't have to tell me anything! He was all smiley, even more than he usually is around you," she said. Peeta conveniently took this moment to busy himself by the oven. "He was singing to himself and everything. It was painful—"

"Hey!" Peeta cut in.

"Besides, I know you wouldn't have let him in the house if you hadn't made up..._and_ _more_, looks like," Prim added under her breath.

"Maybe you should do your homework somewhere else," Katniss said, using a hard look that Prim knew better than to argue with.

"Ugh, fine!" Prim snapped, but she was unable to keep the smirk off her face. "You two can be gross in here together. I don't wanna watch, anyway." She packed up her books, but Katniss didn't miss the wink Peeta sent her before she left the room.

Katniss gulped her soda, trying not to feel mortified by the whole situation. God, she hoped Prim only assumed that "gross" things included kissing with tongue.

"I have seen you naked, by the way." At his voice, her face snapped to his, which bore an insufferably smug expression. "There's nothing my face can do about that. It's just gonna react."

"You better be making something amazing because, otherwise, you can high tail it out of here. You've served your purpose."

"I'll be your sex slave," he returned easily. "You think I mind?"

"Keep your voice—"

Peeta cut her off with a kiss. It sucked the breath out of her. He kissed her like he'd been waiting years to do it, which she supposed he had. It made her body go liquid. When he brought up one oven-mitted hand to her face, she laughed into his mouth and smacked him away.

"I'm making you cupcakes," he told her.

"Oh, for god's sake."

"Hey, I'm gonna make you this stupid cupcake...or really, a whole batch of them. You're gonna eat it, and I'm washing my hands of the whole thing. You're never getting another baked good from me again."

"Uh huh," she yawned, putting her chin on his shoulder after he pulled the cupcakes from the oven. He reached back to rub his hand up and down her bare thigh.

She lifted the hem of her shirt up to scratch her belly but paused when she saw a black mark on her hip. She read the letters upside down.

**KE + PM**

"Peeta...what the hell did you do to my body?"

"You want a refresher?" he quipped, and she flicked his ear. "You're a heavy sleeper, and I didn't have a needle and ink."

She jumped on his back without warning, making him yell out, and she collapsed in a fit of laughter; he just narrowly missed knocking over the cupcakes. She was going to eat one of those stupid things if it killed her. She just wanted to snap a picture of it first, once he had iced it. For posterity. He really was amazing with his hands.

* * *

**Thanks so much to everyone who read, reviewed, favorited, harassed me on Tumblr. ;) Truly, your support meant the world and you made my first WIP a really great experience.**

** A huge final thanks to _misshoneywell_, without whom this fic wouldn't exist...literally. It was her idea that inspired it and she was kind enough to let me run with it. Her feedback (and constant stream of good ideas) is invaluable. Also, a huge thank you to _atetheredmind_ for beta'ing. She did a lot of work in a short period of time and my sentences would be a hell of a lot more awkward without her. :)**

**I'm at pearlofkatniss on Tumblr if y'all wanna chill. **


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